


The Black Archives

by MarieKavanagh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, One-Shots, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23104075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieKavanagh/pseuds/MarieKavanagh
Summary: Snapshots of the lives of the Black family - the highs, lows, and everything in-between.A collection of drabbles and one-shots, originally prompted by my Tumblr followers and posted on my Tumblr profile, re-posted here for more permanent storage and to allow for reviews, should you so wish :)
Relationships: Orion Black/Walburga Black
Comments: 66
Kudos: 110





	1. February 1959

**Author's Note:**

> These one-shots were originally posted on my Tumblr blog, which I wrote after receiving prompts. They were mainly intended as simple writing practice but I thought others may wish to read them, and so here they are :) I hope you enjoy and please leave me some feedback in the comments if you did :) x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Walburga telling Orion she is pregnant.

"I thought we might dine out this evening"

Orion looked up from the page of his book to glance across the fireside at his wife. 

"Oh?" he said as he lowered the book to his lap, marking the page with his finger. "And why is that?"

"I believe it is customary mark the anniversary of one's wedding day with something a little out of the ordinary, is it not?"

Ah. The 23rd February. Four years to the day since Orion and Walburga were joined together in matrimony. 

It was indeed true that a couple were expected to mark such an occasion with a degree of celebration, but for the Blacks, the day brought with it little reason for joy. 

For them, each 23rd February brought with it another grim milestone - another year of childless marriage. Another year without a new heir to the Black name. 

Another year of failure. 

As such, neither husband nor wife had seen fit to mark the previous three anniversaries with more than perhaps a passing comment on the fact. 

So why, then, on the first day of the fourth year of their marriage, was Orion's wife so keen to mark the occasion? 

"Very well" said Orion, glancing up at the clock on the mantle above the fireplace. Half-past two. He would have to send out an owl sharpish if they were to secure a last-minute reservation anywhere decent. 

Trust Walburga to make such a demand on a Saturday, of all days. 

"We'll go to La Favola. Unless you had anywhere particular in mind?"

"No, I'm sure that will prove adequate" replied Walburga, at last allowing her eyes to glance up from her cross-stitching to offer half a smile at her husband.

At the prices they charge, thought Orion to himself, wryly, I should hope it will prove more than adequate"

Twenty-five past six that evening saw husband and wife stand to join beside one another in front of the Floo fireplace of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 

Orion was dressed in black evening robes, finished with a handsome travelling cloak of deep, green velvet with serpentine silver clasps. 

"You look- very fine this evening, Walburga" said the wizard, stiffly, as he busied himself with scooping up a fistful of Floo powder from the holder beside the fireplace. 

Mrs Black had indeed made quite an effort for the occasion. Her elegant silhouette was draped in a cloak of jet-black, thinly trimmed in black fur, veiling her evening gown of deep, wine-red. Her hair, styled into an intricate up-dom was held in place so finely that it seemed the slightest little knock would send her thick, ebony tresses cascading freely down her back. Her look was finished by the delicate, silver jewellery adorning her wrists and neckline, matching the shining silver detailing embroidered along the high collar of her cloak. The silver in her piercing eyes seemed to glitter as brightly as the silver of her outfit.

Walburga Black looked more than fine. She practically shimmered in the candlelight. 

"Thank you" she said with a smug smile as she stepped into the fireplace beside her husband and looped her arm to rest in the crook of her husband's. 

If she had perhaps intended to repay the compliment, she had run out of time, for in an instant the pair were engulfed in bright green flames that transported them to their destination. 

Neither a second too early nor a second too late for their reservation, the Blacks stepped out of the fireplace in the reception of the restaurant to be greeted by an over-eager little French wizard, who seemed to practically bounce on the balls of his feet with enthusiasm as he took their cloaks and showed them to their seats.

"So" said Orion as he dutifully drew out his wife's chair from under the table for her. "Do you intend on telling me the real reason behind this sudden urge to celebrate?"

"Is any reason other than the fourth anniversary of our wedding required?" 

Walburga replied, as she took her seat and buried her face behind her menu.

Orion did not reply. He took up his own menu and began examining the wine list, occasionally lifting his eyes to dart glances across the table at his wife, as though intent on catching her out at the first hint of a slip up in her masquerade. 

If there was one. 

Curiosity burned inside him, hotter each passing moment that his wife pretended to remain oblivious to his plight.

The waiter had no sooner taken their order than Walburga had risen to her feet, excusing herself. 

"Where are you going?" Orion blurted out before he caught hold of his curiosity.  
Walburga paused in the middle of pushing her chair under the table, fixing her husband with a bemused, curious look, her head tilted to one side. 

"What other possible reason could a lady have for excusing herself from the table in the middle of an evening, Orion?" she asked. 

Orion prayed that the evidence of the sudden hot flush he felt in his cheeks was not as obvious as the hint of a smirk on his wife's face suggested. 

"Very well" he muttered, busying himself with examining the intricate flower display on the sideboard across the room as his wife continued her retreat in the direction of the ladies' powder room. 

She returned a moment before the wine arrived at the table, followed, shortly after, by the first course of their meal. 

Orion, thankful for something to occupy his restless hands, quickly took up his silverware and took the first bite of his Saladier Lyonnais. 

The meal proceeded mostly in silence, punctured, occasionally, with the appropriate remarks on each course of food in turn and over-laid with the sound of the calming string quartet that played, musician-less, from the corner of the room. 

And throughout it all, Walburga Black remained remarkably and rather uncharacteristically demure, occasionally shooting her husband a sweet smile as if to cement the illusion of innocence in which he did not believe one jot. 

By the time time the finished dishes of crème brûlée had been taken away and Orion had asked for the bill, he was almost ready to outright demand his wife tell him immediately what was going on. There simply had to be some reason behind this entire charade.  
They left the restaurant as they had arrived, arm in arm, a pregnant silence between them. 

“What is going on?” Orion asked bluntly the second they had arrived safely back within the seclusion of Grimmauld Place. 

“Whatever do you mean?” Walburga asked, lightly, as she unfastened her cloak. 

“Enough of your charade, madam. I am quite certain there is some reason behind this- this act of yours”

“An act?” Walburga repeated, fixing her husband with a curious stare. “What on Earth would I have to be putting on an act for?”

“Well- it’s just-” Orion faltered, not quite able to find the right words. 

When spoken aloud, his concerns were in serious risk of sounding rather silly.

“Our anniversary” he said eventually. “You never wanted to celebrate it in any way before” 

Walburga fiddled with the gold wedding ring on her finger for a moment. 

“Yes, well” she said, her voice quiet. “I think we can both agree there was never really very much to celebrate in terms of the... fruitfulness, of our marriage”

Orion’s gaze quickly averted from his wife. 

“Until now” 

The husband’s eyes returned to fix upon his wife just as quickly as they had retreated from her. 

“Until... now?” he asked, quietly, cautiously. 

“Yes” replied Walburga. Her face was stiff, her jaw clenched, as though she were fighting back a smile. “It would seem that this year I have rather a special anniversary gift for you”

“Oh yes?” Orion took a slow, prowling step closer to his wife, never once taking his eyes off of her. 

“Yes” said Walburga, her voice almost a whisper. “A son” 

Orion felt his heart skip a beat. These words, these so-longed for words that he had been tempted so many times to give up hope of waiting to hear, were truly the best gift he could have asked for. 

“A son” he repeated, eagerly drinking in the sight of his wife stood before him, who had at last allowed her smile of joy free reign over her face. “This is wonderful news” 

“Isn’t it?” Walburga replied, fighting to contain the quiver of excitement in her voice. 

“You’re quite sure?”

“Positive. I’ve had my suspicions for a week or so but I visited a Healer yesterday and it’s certain. We are going to have a son” 

Orion’s joy was punctured, suddenly, by the most seemingly-random of memories. 

“But- tonight... the wine” His eyes suddenly flashed with an element of alarm. “You drank the-”

“It was spelled” his wife interrupted, lifting a hand to silence him. “I had them spell it before it arrived. No alcohol”

She shot her husband a somewhat mischievous smirk. 

“As I said, what other possible reason could a lady have for excusing herself from the table in the middle of an evening?”

Orion’s mouth fell open in surprise.  
“Why, you mischievous-”

He caught a hold on himself, too flushed with happiness to be truly irked at his wife’s deception. 

“I would rather say this is a just cause to allow our anniversary the appropriate level of celebration it deserves, wouldn’t you?” Walburga asked her husband, her silver eyes gleaming as he took her left hand in his grasp and planted a loving kiss atop her wedding ring. 

Orion smiled, his matching silver eyes firmly capturing the gaze of his wife’s in their hold.

“I should say so”


	2. September 1959

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Orion being protective over his wife.

The end-of-summer gathering, a party given by the Flints at their London house in Knightsbridge in early September each year, marked the traditional end of the summer season for the wizards and witches of the esteemed Sacred Twenty-Eight families. It marked the end of the warm, sunny months of socialising; eating, drinking and making merry, as well as a few good matches, if fortunes (and chequebooks) were favourable. As the last chance to indulge in the merriment of summer before the winter drew in, it was the social event no one would miss for any good reason. 

As as such, Walburga Black was not going to let a little thing like being seven months pregnant keep her away. 

“For the last time, Orion, I am perfectly well” Walburga insisted with a frustrated sigh as she inspected herself one final time in the drawing room mirror. She tucked a stray lock of her into her chignon and smoothed her beaded gown over her pregnant stomach. “I am expecting, not ill” 

Orion fastened the silver clasps of his cloak, shooting a disapproving glare across at his wife as she strode, as gracefully as she could with a protruding baby bump, across the room to join him by the fire.

“Really, Walburga, you are seven months along, now” said Orion, reaching for a handful of Floo powder. “Do you not think it best if you began to slow down now that things are… progressing? Take some rest, save your strength for when the time comes” 

“Not at all” his wife replied with her head held high as she took up her own fistful of Floo powder. “I have time enough to gather my strength for when the time comes, not that you yourself have much understanding of what such a task requires, I’m sure”

Orion felt himself flush red at her words. He looked away, staring into the waiting hearth. 

“And besides” Walburga continued, her grey eyes glinting triumphantly as she stepped forwards into the fireplace, one hand resting atop her stomach. “I haven’t missed the Flints’ end-of-summer bash once since I came out. I’m hardly about to start now” 

Orion gritted his teeth silently as he stepped into the fireplace beside his wife. He knew better than to force the matter. It never did well to challenge Walburga on an issue on which she was already so firm in her decision right before an outing. The outcome would only result in her being in a foul, stubborn mood for the remainder of the evening. 

As the couple stepped out of the fireplace at the Flint household, Orion was quick to notice the way his wife seemed to sway for a moment as she walked beside him. 

He instinctively reached out an arm to steady her, only to find himself swatted away impatiently. 

“Are you sure you are quite well?” he asked, uncertainly. 

“For goodness sake, I am fine” Walburga sighed, forcing herself to continue determinedly onward, out of the deserted entrance hall and towards the hum of the voices of the many already-arrived guests in the ballroom. 

Orion quickly caught up with his wife - she was not hard to outrun in her current, very pregnant state. 

“I’m not convinced this is a good idea, Walburga” he said quietly. They were almost within earshot of their fellow guests. “I really feel it would be better for you to return home and rest” 

“For the last time, Orion, I am fine. I am pregnant, not an invalid”

Orion’s flush at her very blunt reference to what he preferred to describe as her “condition” was not missed by his wife.

“I am perfectly capable of attending a party” Walburga snapped, seizing the moment of her husband’s awkwardness to snatch back the arm he had taken from her, freeing herself from his grasp. “I would prefer if we didn’t discuss the matter again this evening” 

And with that, the entrance to the party was upon them at last, and their bickering was forced to cease. 

Orion could neither truly relax, nor pay attention to the conversations he was dragged into. He swilled the whiskey in his glass - his first and only glass, the same one he had been given when they first arrived and which he was still hesitantly sipping almost an hour later.

Walburga had ploughed onward through the crowds valiantly, abandoning him to the group of young men that made up his social circle, most of them former housemates and fellow heirs to their names and estates, to take her place firmly in the centre of the flock of fellow young ladies who would spend the evening gushing over the size of her growing bump, clamouring for details of the preparations for the approaching new arrival and generally making her glow with smug pride as she strategically held her swollen stomach. 

She was carrying the next heir to the House of Black. She had good reason to show off and she very well knew it.

And yet, Orion could clearly see, even from the other side of the room, the tell-tale signs that his wife was perhaps not as well as she would have him believe. 

The occasional, discreet wince, which she masked by taking a strategic sip of her elderflower cordial, which always corresponded with a tensing of the arm that clung to her bump. 

The way she seemed to close her eyes for just a moment longer than necessary, an action she indulged in during the rare seconds that no one was looking directly at her, as though scrounging for the merest chance of rest. 

“I said, what say you on the matter, Orion?” 

Orion was snapped back to reality, his eyes wrenching themselves out of their hypnotic-like stare at his wife to turn to a bemused-looking Abraxas Malfoy. 

“Sorry?” he asked, to be met with a chuckle from the silver-haired newly-appointed head of the Malfoy family. 

“Merlin’s beard man, have you not heard a word I said?” asked Malfoy, taking a swig from his own glass - his third (or was it fourth?). “Got cloth in your ears, old boy?” 

Orion forced himself to smirk in feigned bemusement. He couldn’t, in truth, give two jots about the proposed new restrictions on nogtail-hunting seasons, nor how they would affect the Malfoys’ income from their annual organised hunts.

He was far more concerned by the fact that his wife had somehow managed to slip away from the cluster of women to head for a quiet, secluded corner of the room. 

“I tell you, it’s absolute tripe” Malfoy continued to moan, seemingly unaware of Orion’s lack of interest or contribution to the conversation. “What business has the Ministry regarding when a man may hunt on his own-”

“Excuse me” Orion cut him off bluntly, abandoning his glass on the nearest side table as he marched through the crowds of party guests towards his wife, who now leaned on one arm against the wall of the shadowy corner she had hidden herself in. 

Her face was flushed pink, her eyes screwed shut, her breathing deep. 

“Walburga” 

Orion grasped his wife by the shoulder, turning her slightly to inspect her fully. 

“Don’t fuss, Orion, I’m fine” his wife tried to insist, her weary voice suggesting that her words, no matter how firm, were a lie. “I just had a slight- dizzy spell” 

“You are not fine” Orion hissed, his grey eyes glinting with urgency as he took in her now-paled complexion, a dramatic difference from her sudden flush mere moments earlier. “You are tired. I knew attending this party was a bad idea. I told you-”

“I say, is everything alright?” 

The couple turned their heads to the direction of the interrupter to find the concerned face of Imelda Flint, aged dowager of the Flint family and the host of the night’s gathering. 

Her kindly, blue eyes flitted from husband to wife, her sincere concern evident. 

“Quite alright” Walburga rushed to reply, her voice rather breathless in her urgency to secure the first response over her husband. “I just had a slight turn, that is all” 

No sooner had Imelda Flint’s face begin to relax in relief than Orion had seized a hold of his wife by the waist and had begun to steer her, firmly, out of the corner. 

“No, everything is not quite alright” he said, firmly. “Mrs Flint, thank you kindly for your hospitality but I’m afraid we must be leaving now. My wife is incapacitated. She requires rest” 

He did not wait to hear the concerned response from the elderly witch, nor did he pay any mind to the turned-heads of their fellow guests as they made their way through the room, out the doors and across the entrance hall to the fireplace from which they had emerged barely an hour before.

To Orion’s somewhat surprise, Walburga did not resist him as he guided her to the fireplace with one arm firmly fixed across her lower back. She remained silently furious for the duration of the journey home, unleashing her irritation only once they were safely arrived back in at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 

“What on Earth did you think you were playing at?” she snapped at her husband, glaring at him with her fists clenched in irritation. “I was perfectly fine, Orion. There was no need to cause such a scene”

“There was every need” Orion seethed, his quiet anger simmering low in his voice. “You were white as a sheet and you looked barely able to stand. You are with child and you are tired, Walburga. Are you so stubborn that you will not take rest for the good of our child, if not for yourself?” 

Walburga folded her arms, stubbornly. In her current condition, they rested atop her very pregnant stomach - the root of their argument. 

“Well then” she said, her head tilted to one side coyly, her voice surprisingly cool. “If you are so certain that I was in no state to go out this evening, perhaps you ought to have piped up and insisted I stay home in the first place”

Orion paused, taken aback by his wife’s words. This was not the inflammatory retort he had expected his wife to respond with, the likes of which he was so used to. 

And anyway, he had insisted. Had he not?

“Very well” he said, calmly. He took a firm step closer to his wife to stand directly before her, as close as he could get with her swollen middle in the way, glaring down at her with what he hoped was a- dominating, expression. 

“If it is authority you wish for, then that is precisely what I shall give you. You will not undertake any more engagements for the remainder of your term. You are to stay home and rest in peace and quiet, and conserve your energy for when your time comes. Of this, I insist. Is that clear?”

In the tense moment of silence that followed, Orion rather expected his stubborn wife to spit back some venomous argument against his command. But to his surprise, he received only a rather satisfied smirk in response. 

“Perfectly” Walburga replied.

Her entire demeanour seemed to relax a little. Her tense, defensive stance melted away as she turned her back on her husband and made her way towards the door which would lead her out into the main hall and towards the staircase. 

“If you will excuse me, I think I will retire for the night. To rest. Goodnight”

“Goodnight” Orion replied, blankly, as he watched his wife sweep from the drawing room with as much grace as one seven months pregnant could manage. 

As she left the drawing room and tuned towards the staircase, Orion watched her reflection in the strategically-placed mirror just opposite the ajar door, catching enough of a glimpse to see his wife give up her pretence of wellness at last. Walburga hunched over slightly as she held the banister of the stairs, one arm reaching around herself to rub soothingly at her lower back.

Alone at last, Orion collapsed down onto the drawing room sofa and sighed, exasperated. 

His wife’s temper and stubbornness had always been family-famous, but her fiery flames had flared evermore violently since they’d discovered her condition. 

Still, Orion thought to himself hopefully as he rubbed his sore head, perhaps motherhood would yet quell her tiresome wilfulness.


	3. January 1968

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Regulus is frightened of the storm.

The winds of the raging storm sweeping through London howled against the aged walls of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. The thick raindrops pelted against the windowpanes, pouring relentlessly from the charcoal-grey skies above the city. It was three o’clock on a Sunday afternoon and eight-year-old Sirius Black was bored. 

Sundays were always the most boring day of the week. They day usually reserved for tedious gatherings of family members for afternoon tea (an ordeal which Sirius was only spared from today by Grandfather Arcturus having developed a nasty cold and insisted that the whole thing be called off, such was the pointlessness of a family gathering without his presence, of course), followed by hours spent wiling away the day playing whatever games he could convince Regulus to play with him. 

Except, Regulus was nowhere to be found. 

Sirius searched high and low every room of the top floor of the house, where their bedrooms, playroom and schoolroom were located and where their freedom was restricted to without supervision. 

“Reg!” Sirius called down the corridor, to the unwelcome reply of silence. “Reg, where are you?” 

He half-hoped his calls might awaken from her afternoon nap their ancient old governess, the latest in the long line of interchangeable, boring old witches put in charge of the sons of the House of Black and whom Sirius was sure would be leaving them any day now, if her ever-increasing threats were to be believed. At least if she emerged from her room, grumpily complaining about the noise, she might be able to enlighten Sirius on where his brother was. But alas, the sound of her snoring continued to echo through the hallway, broken only by the continuing pelting of rain against the house punctured by a particularly loud rumble of thunder 

His curiosity getting the better of him and, with a genuine worry beginning to brew inside him, Sirius began to tiptoe down the forbidden staircase that served as the barrier between their designated territory and the forbidden land that was the rest of the house. But if Regulus wasn’t to be found in any nook or cranny on this floor, then he surely must be somewhere below. In any case, if he truly was vanished into thin air, he would need to venture downstairs to alert Mama and Papa to the case of their missing younger son. Mama would surely spare him a scolding for reporting such an emergency. Papa might even give him a grateful pat on the shoulder. 

Sirius tiptoed along the corridor, his ears pricked up ready to follow the slightest sound that might lead him to his missing brother. The surrounding portraits tutted and shook their painted heads down at him disapprovingly but Sirius paid them no heed (except to stick out his tongue at the particularly disliked portrait of his great grandfather, Cygnus Black II). 

The boy was just about to wonder if he should give up his search and instead go and alert his parents, when his ears suddenly picked up the sound of a distinct scuffling noise coming from one of the guest bedrooms, a sound almost masked by another loud crack of thunder ringing through the house eerily. 

Sirius hurried towards the room as quietly as he could, dashing on his tiptoes to avoid his shoes clicking against the floorboards and giving away his trespassing to anyone in earshot. He pushed open the heavy, mahogany door, wincing slightly at the loud creaking noise it emitted. 

“Reg?” Sirius whispered urgently into the room. “Are you in here?” 

Silence. 

Just as Sirius was about to admit defeat and leave the room, yet another thunder crack rang pierced through the silence, followed quickly by another urgent scuffling sound. 

Sirius’s head jerked in the direction of the noise - the ornately-carved wardrobe on the other side of the room. 

He hurried over to it and threw open the doors, too delighted at the discovery of his brother to be concerned about the considerably-louder creaking noise as the wooden door swung open. 

Regulus was curled up in the far corner of the wardrobe, barely visible behind the hems of the many hanging sets of dusty robes and fur cloaks crammed into the wardrobe. This was the room most frequented by their Great Aunt Cassiopeia, who insisted on keeping an entire month’s worth of her famously-hideous clothes stored at Grimmauld Place to see her through her stays in London. 

“Reg? What are you doing in here?” Sirius asked as he knelt down to crawl into the wardrobe, under the robes to sit opposite his brother. 

It was most unlike the younger of the brothers to sneak away from their restricted area of the house, let alone to creep into an expressly-forbidden room and hide himself inside a piece of furniture. That was two rules broken in one go. And Regulus never broke the rules willingly.

And yet, here was Regulus himself, the good boy who followed the rules, breaking two of his own accord and without his mischievous elder brother’s provoking. The little boy was sat with his knees hugged tight to his chest, his shoulders hunched over and his face almost hidden in his lap. 

“Reg, what’s wrong?” Sirius asked, worriedly. His brother seemed upset. 

“You’re not still sad because I broke your model Abraxan last night, are you? You know Hilda fixed it for you, it’s good as new now. And I did promised not to try and make it fly again”

Regulus shook his head with a sniffle. 

“No, s’not that” he mumbled.

“Well what is it then?”

With perfect timing, yet another loud rumble of thunder rolled through the house, it’s deep boom seeming to almost shake the room. 

Regulus flinched dramatically, his shoulders shaking before he hugged his knees tighter, seemingly trying to curl himself tight enough to disappear completely. 

“You’re not… scared of the storm, are you?” Sirius asked, tilting his head curiously. 

His brother nodded silently, except for another sniffle. 

“Really?” 

Sirius was surprised. 

“Don’t laugh” said Regulus, his urgent voice coming out in almost a snap. 

“I won’t” Sirius replied, with genuine sincerity. Perhaps if he’d discovered Regulus’s fear in passing conversation, he may have teased about it. But here, crouched in the bottom of a wardrobe in the midst of a violent storm, Sirius had no urge to cackle. 

His urge, instead, was to crawl closer to his brother and put a comforting arm around his little brother. 

And so, he did. 

Regulus leaned into Sirius’s side, seeming to relax, almost, until another thunder crack sent him tensing back into his shell again. 

It saddened Sirius to see his brother sound scared. He might tease Regulus for being boring, timid, a stick-in-the-mud, but in the end, he was the big brother and it was his job to cheer up his younger sibling. 

“Hey Reg, don’t you know what thunder is?” 

“Shove off, Sirius” Regulus mumbled into the elder boy’s shoulder. 

“No, really, don’t you know what it is?”

“No…”

“I do. Hilda told me, earlier. You’d have heard it too if you hadn’t sneaked off to hide in here. And if you had, you wouldn’t be so scared”

Regulus’s head lifted, his eyes peeking up at Sirius, narrowed with caution. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s drunk hippogriffs falling down a staircase” 

Regulus huffed out a disbelieving scoff. 

“No really, it is!” Sirius insisted. “Don’t you hear it in the thunder? If you listen properly you can hear them. Sloshed on firewhiskey and tumbling down the stairs, legs all in a tangle, feathers flying everywhere” 

“Shove off, Sirius” Reg said again, knocking his brother lightly on the arm and turning his head away- to hide the smile creeping onto his face. 

“It’s true, really!” Sirius insisted again. “Wait for the next crack and listen, you’ll hear it. You can even hear their drunk squawking as they fall-”

Another strike of perfect timing. Another rumble of thunder began to brew in the skies above them and Sirius felt Regulus curl tighter against him in anticipation. 

“Now, listen, Reg” he said, giving his brother’s shoulder a shake. “There it is, hear it? A great, drunk hippogriff, tumbling down the stairs. And then-”

As the very worst of the thunder crack rang out through the house, Sirius let out the most almighty, undignified impression of a pained hippogriff squawk. Surely the most unbecoming of noises to be heard in these hallowed halls of Grimmauld Place. 

But beside him, his little brother burst out laughing, his tightly-curled defensive position giving way as he collapsed in a fit of giggles at his brother’s impression. 

“It’s- it’s not really a drunk hippogriff though” Regulus stammered out through his laughter as the thunder subsided. 

“It is so!” Sirius protested. “Listen, it’s coming again!” 

Once again, as the rumbling of the thunder reached it’s peak, Sirius let out another almighty squawk and Regulus all but collapsed under the weight of his laughter. 

“See? What did I tell you? Drunk hippogriffs. That’s all it is. What else could make such an awful noise?” 

“You when that bowtruckle bit you on the nose last summer” 

Sirius stuck his nose in the air and folded his arms sulkily. 

“If you’re just going to pick on me then I’ll just go away” 

He shuffled about as if he made to leave the wardrobe, but Regulus tugged at his robe sleeve, pulling him back. 

“No, please. Don’t go. I’m sorry” 

Sirius hadn’t really meant to go, but it felt good to hear his brother’s longing for him to stay, nonetheless. 

“Alright. We’ll stay here til the end of the storm but then that’s it. I don’t want to come out stinking like Aunt Cass’s scruffy old kneazles” 

The two boys sat, huddled together at the back of the wardrobe, in silence for several minutes. 

“Sirius?” Regulus piped up, sounding decided more relaxed than he had done when his big brother had first found him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thanks” 

Sirius squeezed the arm he had draped around his little brother’s shoulders, holding him tight. 

“What are brothers for?”


	4. November 1967

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "How did you get in here?" - Orion and Regulus

“How did you get in here?”

Orion’s voice - though appropriately stern for a father having just discovered his six-year-old son hiding in the tight corner between the mahogany storage cupboard and the wall of his study - was soft, softer than he’d have spoken had it been his elder son who had been caught instead of his younger. 

Regulus stared up at his father, his pale, silvery eyes wide with alarm and foreboding. Though the little boy had inherited the coveted Black feature of grey eyes, his were a shade paler than that of his parents’ and elder brother - more shimmering silver than stormy grey.

“Answer me, Regulus” Orion prompted, firmly yet calmly, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“Through there” Regulus said, softly, his robe sleeve sliding up to expose his spindly arm as he pointed to the corner of the ceiling. Nailed to the wall in that corner was a brass air vent, a reminder of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place’s brief history as a Muggle residence before the original wizarding owners of the Black family acquired it. Orion had never before paid any heed to the various brass vents dotted about the rooms of the house - wizards, naturally, had no need of air distribution systems. Such feats could be controlled by the far more superior means of magic. 

Now, however, he noticed that the vent in his study happened to be less than two meters above the top of a tall, solid, wooden display cabinet - a distance that a small child might easily slip out of through the vent and land upon to gain access to the room. 

“And would you care to tell me why you saw fit to sneak into my private study, which you know full well you are not permitted to enter without my permission, through such means?”

It hadn’t seemed possible that Regulus’s eyes could widen any further than they already had, but that is precisely what they did upon hearing his father’s clearly displeased tone. The boy nibbled at his bottom lip, a natural habit for the naturally nervous child, but quickly forced himself to cease. His papa had warned him before that it was a bad habit that would only result in a sore lip and a weak appearance. 

Orion suppressed a sigh at how obviously troubled his younger son clearly was. The contradiction of his sons’ ways was taxing at times; for all Sirius was scolded for being too daring, too brash, too confident, Regulus was often sighed over hopelessly for possessing an insufficient amount of any of these qualities. 

“Regulus” said Orion, the boy’s gaze flitting upwards to meet his own. “Whatever you’ve done, you will be in far more trouble if you do not confess now”

“Was looking for the phoenix, Papa” Regulus mumbled, his small fists clutching at the material of his robe sleeves. “Sirius said it would be in here somewhere…”

Ah. So that was the aim behind this great break-in. 

The phoenix to which Regulus referred was the small toy model phoenix that Sirius had received for his birthday several weeks ago and which Orion had confiscated from Sirius almost a week ago. 

Though thankfully not realistic enough to catch-fire after a certain amount of time, the little model bird, small enough to fit comfortably in a child’s palm, could chirp realistically, flap it’s feathered wings and even fly about a room, following the directional commands of the child by which it was owned. 

Whilst most children would be content to simply have the bird flutter about for their amusement, Sirius, naturally, had seen fit to go several steps further and had charged about the hallways of Grimmauld Place in an attempt to see just how fast it could go and if he could outrun it. Caught up in a fit of his own triumph at having achieved the goal, he’d lost control of the toy and it had gone soaring straight into a large, extremely valuable antique vase, shattering it. 

Though the china itself was fixable through magic, no wand could restore the vase’s rumoured magical energy, the secret of how to unlock this power hidden throughout the centuries. And now, the secret would never be discovered. 

Sirius had been confined to his room for the rest of the day and all of his toys confiscated, a select-few of which had been returned to him yesterday. His favourite, the phoenix, however, had remained confiscated. 

Irked at his continued punishment, Sirius had immediately begun plotting to get the phoenix back himself, much to his younger brother’s silent disapproval.

“And why did Sirius not see fit to come and retrieve his toy himself, hmm?” Orion asked. 

It seemed rather odd for his adventurous-to-a-fault elder son to pass up the opportunity of undertaking such a daring mission himself.

“He was too big to fit in the vent” replied Regulus, his eyes occasionally darting up to look at his father before averting them quickly to the safety of the floor in front of him. 

Orion glanced up at the vent again. It was true, the vent was indeed not particularly large, and Sirius, having recently shot up by several inches, would certainly have found the space to be a tight squeeze compared to his smaller, slighter brother.

“So he told me to do it for him instead” Regulus’s words were meek and quiet, reminding Orion, not helped by the fact that his son was currently cowering in a dark corner, rather of a mouse.

“And you agreed to do this, did you?” Orion probed his son, noting how his fingers began to fidget with them hem of his sleeves more anxiously with each question. “Despite knowing that you would be in big trouble when caught?”

Though deliberately eliminating the possibility of getting away with their crime in his words, it was only through chance that Orion had caught Regulus in his study at all. His sons’ had chosen their timing well - both he and his wife were due at the Rosiers’ for dinner in less than half an hour and it was only due to the sudden realisation that he’d forgotten to collect a document he’d promised to bring to discuss with his sister-in-law’s father over their after-dinner port that Orion had returned to his study unexpectedly. 

Had his memory not let him down, his sons’ plot may well have been successful. His eyes darted over to the chest of drawers further along the wall, inside the top drawer of which the toy in question was stored. The drawer was magically locked and, with no sign of forcing, it seemed Regulus had failed to find it before hearing the footsteps of his father approaching and seeking a hiding spot.

“I’m sorry, Papa” Regulus said solemnly as he lowered his head in shame to rest his chin on his knees, the true image of regret and remorse that his elder brother would never willingly assume. “I know it was wrong” 

“Then why did you do it?” 

Regulus did not reply. He looked visibly anxious at being unable to think of a suitable answer to his papa’s question. Poor, sweet, submissive Regulus, who’s silvery orbs would begin to shimmer with tears over the stress of failing to offer the correct answer demanded of him. Soft, eager-to-please Regulus, always quick to obey, easily taken advantage of by those of a firmer disposition. 

“You did it because Sirius told you to” said Orion, speaking aloud the words which Regulus could not quite manage to. 

The little boy sniffled, bowing his head to stare at his knees, his heavy black fringe veiling the eyes that Orion was certain were brimming with tears, threatening to fall with one blink too many.

Orion crouched down beside his son, still tightly squeezed between the cupboard and the wall like cornered prey. 

Regulus, unused to his father being on the same level as him, slowly turned his head a little to glance across at the imposing wizard. True to Orion’s suspicions, his eyes were indeed shining with moisture. 

“Listen to me, Regulus” 

Regulus’s head obediently lifted a little higher attentively. 

Unsatisfied, Orion reached out to tilt the boy’s head up higher, his hair falling back from his face, to look his father directly in the eye.

“You mustn’t let yourself be coerced so by your brother” Orion told his son, his stern tone still mingled with the calmness that was required when handling his younger son. “Sirius is a glutton for trouble. He is failing to set the example he ought to be setting you as your elder brother. He needs to learn to behave himself properly. What he does not need is the knowledge that he has his younger brother at his command as a way to attempt to escape his punishments”

Regulus swallowed anxiously. Orion could see the conflict of interests plastered across his pale face as clear as day. The corner of his bottom lip disappeared between his teeth again. 

“You must learn to assert yourself more, Regulus” Orion urged his son. “Set the example your brother requires and refuse him when he attempts to engage you in his disobedience. He may scowl and be irked with you but he will benefit from it in the long-run. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Papa” Regulus replied obediently. 

Orion removed his hand from the boy’s chin. Regulus’s head stayed attentively elevated like an eager-to-please puppy, awaiting further instruction from those that would command him. As always. 

Orion suppressed a sigh. 

He rose to his feet and gestured with his hand for Regulus to stand up. 

“Come, now. Out of there” 

Regulus scrambled to obey. Orion grasped his son’s shoulder, steering him towards the study door.

“I will escort you back to the nursery and speak with Sirius”

Orion did not miss the slight flinch that ran through the little boy’s body upon hearing that his brother would not escape punishment for his part in this failed retrieval mission. 

Despite all he had told the boy, despite his son’s pledge to learn to say no to Sirius, Orion knew that Regulus would almost-certainly find himself on the receiving end of his brother’s persuasive orders again several times over before long, such was the boy’s natural desire to please those he looked up to, despite knowing he shouldn’t. 

Orion only hoped that Regulus’s errant elder brother would be the only one to take advantage of his softer, younger son in such a way.


	5. July 1976 - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "How much did you drink?" and "It doesn't matter anymore" - Sirius and Regulus

Regulus nibbled silently at the corner of his scone, his eyes fixed downward at his plate. The air surrounding the breakfast table of the Black family dining room on this midsummer day was thick and heavy with tension and the younger son of the family was eager to finish his meagre breakfast (he rarely had much of an appetite first thing in the morning) and make his excuses from the table at which he was seated, alone with his father. 

His mother rarely joined them for breakfast, preferring instead to indulge in the privilege afforded to married women of status to take breakfast in bed. It was just as well, for although the tense silence between Orion and Regulus was difficult for the boy to endure, it was not nearly as hard as having to endure the simmering, frustrated anger of his mother if she’d been here to bear witness to his elder brother’s notable, unauthorised absence from the breakfast table.

In the few moments that Regulus would lift his eyes from his downward gaze, it would be to glance across at the empty chair opposite him in which Sirius was meant to be sat. Its emptiness rang loud throughout the room, almost as loud as if Sirius were indeed here to fill it. 

The younger Black brother’s grey eyes flickered eastward to examine his father, who was sat, as he was every morning in Regulus’s memory since he was first permitted to take breakfast outside of the nursery, at the head of the table, with the freshly-delivered morning’s edition of the Daily Prophet levitating beside his chair, his gaze fixated intently on the page. He rarely paid much heed to either of his sons during breakfast, perhaps enquiring as to how they’d slept in a blunt voice that offered no suggestion that he intended to turn this courtesy into a conversation before returning his attention to the daily evaluation of the British Galleon’s value against it’s French counterpart. 

Not being one with a natural desire for friendly chit-chat first thing in the morning with most people as a rule, let alone with his father, Regulus was quite content to allow the only noise to pass between the two of them to be the occasional clang of teaspoons on china or of knives sawing through freshly-baked bread loaves. He was only too aware, however, of how Sirius, by comparison, utterly detested silence. He had been banished from the breakfast table only last week for attempting to liven up what he saw as the daily morning endurance by loudly commenting on the previous day’s Quidditch scores, which he’d craned his neck ungracefully across the table to read on the back page of Orion’s newspaper, ruining his father’s ability to concentrate on the day’s financial news. 

Regulus’s eyes found themselves craning upwards to glance at his brother’s empty chair again. 

He knew why it was empty today. It was no doubt because of the blazing row that had unfolded within Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place the previous evening, the topic of which was still the topic of the family’s ancestral portraits this morning - Regulus had heard the disapproving tuts of the his predecessors as he’d ventured out of his room, passing by the bedroom door of his brother which stayed defiantly and firmly shut. 

In Regulus’s mind, their mother’s decision to forbid Sirius a previously-approved weekend visit to the Potter household was entirely justified. After all, if Sirius was so desperate to visit the boy he’d rather spend his summer shut up in his room writing letters to than gracing his own blood brother with so much as a passing greeting, then why did he see fit to disobey their mother’s request for him to be polite to the visiting husband of their newlywed cousin, Narcissa?

Regulus’s own cheeks still burned with embarrassment as he recalled the twisted look of indignant anger on Lucius Malfoy’s face throughout afternoon tea as Sirius had made quip after quip about his serpent-embezzled robes and “locks that would send a princess green with envy” until Walburga had banished him to the confines of his room in disgrace for the remainder of the visit. 

The blazing row that had erupted mere seconds before the Malfoys had left and Walburga had marched up to her elder son’s bedroom had seemed to shake the walls of the house and had left Regulus wishing he were old enough to be able to cast a much-desired silencing charm around his own bedroom. 

And now Sirius had failed to appear for breakfast. No doubt hiding in his room in a sulk. 

Regulus let out a barely-audible sigh. His brother was too stubborn and hard-headed to see (or care) about how much worse he would make things for himself but hiding away in self-enforced seclusion. 

For the sake of peace in the house, he needed to be told as much. 

Summoning courage he kept in meagre stores for emergencies, once he’d finished his breakfast and parted ways from his father with the meek utterance of “Good day, Father” he offered every morning (and returned with an even more silent nod from Orion), Regulus ascended the stairs of Grimmauld Place and turned, not to his own bedroom on the left of the landing, but to Sirius’s door on the right. He rasped his knuckles on the heavy wood, bracing himself for the sharp bark of “Piss off!” that anyone who dared disturb Sirius on a bad day was liable to relieve.

But not such remark came. Regulus was met only by silence. He knocked again, harder this time, and was finally met by a peculiar, weak-sounding moan from behind the door. 

“Sirius?” Regulus called tentatively. “Can I come in?”

Another moan, as weak as the one before, neither confirming nor denying Regulus’s permission to enter. But from the sound of it, Sirius might well not be simply sulking after the row with his mother - he may instead be ill and require assistance. 

Regulus pushed open his brother’s bedroom door to be met with darkness; Sirius’s heavy window curtains were pulled shut, a sliver of bright, August sunshine pouring through the chink in the fabric. Regulus forced himself not to wrinkle his nose at the distasteful Muggle posters his brother had plastered all over his bedroom walls, in a latest effort to shock their parents. Quite what the desired reaction Sirius was aiming for was, Regulus had yet to figure out and Sirius had yet to explain to him. 

The sixteen-year-old boy himself was laying sprawled out across his bed, the thin summer covers tangled about his limbs, evidence of tossing and turning. He lay face down, his head half-buried in a pillow, motionless. 

“Sirius?” Regulus called softly as he made his way across the untidy room to his brother’s bedside. “Sirius, what’s wrong? Are you ill?” 

The words his elder brother uttered in reply were slurred, muffled heavily by the fabric of the pillow. 

“That’s one word for it” 

A sudden, unpleasantly strong whiff invaded Regulus’s nostrils. It was the smell he recognised from several months ago, at school, when a group of irksome sixth year Slytherins had managed to somehow wrangle a bottle of liquor back from a Hogsmeade trip and into the Common Room. It was the smell of cheap whiskey. 

“You’re drunk” said Regulus, his voice heavy with evident disapproval. 

“Not drunk, hungover” Sirius mumbled, turning his head sideways towards his brother but not able, or willing, to lift his gaze to look the younger boy in the eye. “Big difference, Reg” 

“I’m sure” 

His younger brother’s prim, disapproving tone was not missed by the elder.

Regulus sighed in frustration at the sight of his elder brother in such a state. He was dressed abominably, in a thin, Muggle t-shirt and denim jeans that their mother had threaten to burn if she ever saw again, he reeked of stale drink and there were dark circles of sleep deprivation under his eyes, marring the handsome face that Regulus had found himself feeling a slight burn of jealously towards several times.

“How did you even get out of here?” Regulus found himself asking. 

Sirius silently raised a clumsy arm to point across the room at his window. Regulus peered through the fabric which fluttered in the slight breeze to reveal the swung-open glass. A rope of bed sheets was knotted around the middle of the window frame. Regulus couldn’t help but cringe to himself at the image of his brother abseiling down the side of the house like a common Muggle thief in the night. But really, what else was he to do? Their father’s intricate protection spells would detect even the slightest flutter of magic aiding his escape from the home he so often referred to as a prison fortress. 

Judging by the state of him now, Regulus was surprised Sirius had managed to haul himself back up through the window at the end of his escapade. 

“How much did you drink?” asked Regulus, as if it mattered how much alcohol it took for his brother to land himself in such a state. 

Sirius shrugged. 

“Dunno. A few” he muttered. 

“More than a few, by the looks of it” Regulus replied, the haughty disapproval of his tone reminding himself, somewhat alarmingly, of their father. 

“Mother is only going to be even more angry with you if she sees you like this” he said, the worried tone of a concerned younger brother returning to him. 

Sirius sighed. His already downcast eyes seemed to droop even further. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore” he said. 

Regulus was taken aback by the distinct air of defeat in his normally so bold and defiant elder brother. He looked so... broken. So sad. 

It wasn’t right. 

Regulus turned away to leave the room. 

“I’ll- get you a glass of water” he said, softly. “And don’t worry about Mother. I’ll tell her you’re sleeping off a- a stomach bug or something” 

As Regulus reached out to open the door, he resigned himself to the fact that his brother had either fallen asleep or didn’t see fit to grace him with a reply.  
“Reg” 

At the sound of Sirius’s weak call from the bed across the room, Regulus paused with his hand on the door handle and turned to face his elder brother. 

“Thanks” said Sirius, even managing an attempt at half a smile. 

Regulus returned the gesture with offering the other half of the smile back at him. 

“You’re welcome” he replied before leaving his brother’s bedroom to fetch the promised water.


	6. July 1976 - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "How much did you drink?" - Orion and Sirius

The loud yelp and crash, followed several seconds later by a heavy thump, coming from outside the house jolted Orion rudely from his sleep. Immediately alert, he grabbed his wand and swept over to the window to investigate. 

At the sight that met his eyes as they stared down at the pavement below, he sighed in frustration. 

Orion turned away from the window and began to make his way downstairs, grabbing his cloak on his way through the hallway to the front door and throwing it over his pyjamas before stepping out into the night. 

Outside Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, the late-night summer air hung heavy, hot and humid. The residents of the square were silent, the night undisturbed. 

Almost. 

Orion followed the sound of the muffled moaning noise around the outer walls of his house, along the narrow gap between Number Twelve and Number Eleven, towards the crumpled heap laying at the foot of the drainpipe which, three floors above, passed directly beside the bedroom window of his eldest son. 

“Sirius” Orion addressed the moaning tangle of limbs at his feet sharply. “I would hardly say this is the most appropriate time for a stroll about the neighbourhood” 

Sirius did not respond. He remained in his curled-up position on the damp, filthy pavement. His unkempt, too-long hair fell forward in a tangled, black mess, hiding his face from his father’s stern gaze.

Orion could see, in the faint glimmer of the lamppost on the outer pavement, that his sixteen-year-old son was dressed in yet another set of the disgraceful Muggle rags that his wife had determinedly confiscated and destroyed on countless occasions over the last year or so, but replacements of which stubbornly kept reappearing just as quickly as their predecessors were disposed of. 

Orion nudged his son’s leg with the toe of his shoe. 

“Get up” he ordered. 

Sirius merely moaned in response, his pathetic state reminding Orion of he occasional wounded fox that could be seen and heard as it lay by the side of the road after being knocked down by a passing Muggle vehicle. 

Orion glanced up at the drainpipe scaling the side of Number Twelve, by-passing the open window of Sirius’s bedroom. 

“Three storeys is quite a way for one to climb up a drainpipe” he remarked, tilting his head down at his son. “And yet, I don’t doubt you could easily manage it-”

The wizard took a sniff of the warm, summer air, ruined by the faint smell of alcohol emitting from the teenage boy on the pavement. 

“-if you were _sober_ ” 

Orion pointed his wand down at his son and gave it a flick. 

Sirius let out another moan of protest as his body forcibly uncurled itself and an invisible force pushed him to sit up and begin to dizzily scramble to his feet. 

Orion swiftly grabbed hold of the boy as he began to sway dangerously on his feet, gripping him by the scruff of his distasteful Muggle shirt. 

“How much did you drink?” Orion demanded, pointing a ray of light from his wand-tip at his son’s face so as to examine him properly. 

Sirius’s eyes screwed tightly shut against the light, his head jerking to the side in discomfort. His face was pale, too pale for mid-summer, and his right cheek was marred by an ugly red graze that he no doubt obtained during his ungraceful fall from halfway up the side of the house. 

“S’none of your business” he murmured, ever the sullen one, even from within his father’s grip whilst incapacitated with drink and with muscles throbbing with pain from his fall. 

“You are my _son_ ” Orion hissed at the sixteen-year-old, driving his wand closer to Sirius’s face. The boy’s head jerked away at the bright light offending his sensitive vision. “All that you do _is_ my business. Now, _answer me_ ” 

He gave his son a sharp shake for good measure. 

“Couple’ve beers” Sirius slurred with a shrug, leaning back against the wall to steady himself against the wall of Number Eleven against the sudden, fresh wave of dizziness threatening to overtake him. 

Orion snorted. 

“Well then” he scoffed, raising a critical eyebrow. “If _‘a couple of beers’_ is all it takes to reduce you to this pathetic state, I should think you have sufficiently proven yourself to be far too much of a child yet to be indulging in drink”

Sirius scowled and attempted to stubbornly wriggle free from his father’s grip, but Orion’s hold on him remained firm. 

“ _Enough_ ” Orion hissed, dangerously. Sirius stilled in his grip. “I’ve had _quite_ enough of your ridiculous carry-ons this summer. It’s bad enough that you’ve seen fit to spent the entire season in a fit of childish disobedience within this house, but making an absolute _mockery_ of yourself - sneaking out in the middle of the night dressed as some filthy Muggle urchin and drinking yourself into such a state - this is the final straw”

Sirius’s glazed eyes slowly lifted from the spot they had been determinedly staring at in the gutter to look up at his father. Orion felt a shiver run through the boy in spite of the warm, August air, as Sirius met his cold, furious gaze.

“You are not to set foot outside of this house again for the remainder of the summer, without the direct supervision of either myself or your mother” said Orion, observing how Sirius’s mouth slackened in preparation to protest at his words. 

“ _Not one foot_ ” he repeated, firmly, before the boy could release a word of protest against him. “Is that clear?” 

Sirius’s gaze dropped to the floor again as he mumbled something that vaguely sounded like a “yeah”. 

“I said-” Orion repeated, releasing his grip on Sirius’s shirt to grab his son by the chin and jerk his gaze up to meet his own. “- _is that clear?_ ” 

“Yes, Father” said Sirius, his words slow in an attempt to avoid a slur that would surely only provoke the wizard further. 

Orion searched the gaze of his son for a moment, the grey eyes, a mirror of his own, that should have been bright with the sparkle of youth were instead clouded with a tired, intoxicated fog. And something else, beneath it all. A glimmer of defeat.

“Good”

Orion jerked his head towards the end of the narrow alley, towards the front of the house. “Now, get inside” he said, his former calmness and composure returned once more. “Off to bed with you”

With a surprising lack of protest, Sirius took a hesitant step forward, only to stumble and have to reach out quickly to steady himself on the nearest object to prevent himself keeling over - the nearest object happening to be his father. 

Orion started slightly as his son clutched at his cloak for support but instinctively reached out to help steady him nonetheless. He glanced downward and noticed that Sirius was balancing, rather unsuccessfully in his current, intoxicated state, on one leg, the other being held up and shaking. 

He sighed. Was there no end to the damage this foolish boy would do to himself in a fit of his own recklessness? 

“I suppose you landed on that leg when you fell, did you?” he asked, somewhat wryly. 

Sirius nodded miserably through gritted teeth. 

Orion shook his head and sighed again. 

“Come on-” he said, wearily, pulling his son to lean against his side as he led him slowly back towards the main street of Grimmauld Place. “-let’s get that fixed”


	7. 3rd November 1959

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The day Sirius was born.

“For Merlin’s sake, boy, would you sit down?” 

It wasn’t often that Orion felt the need to retort his father’s snappy remarks, but he couldn’t help but feel that the term “boy” surely wasn’t one best used to a man stood on the brink of fatherhood himself. 

Nevertheless, even in this most stressful moment, he resisted the urge to respond. 

Arcturus Black was not a man who appreciated back-talk from anyone. 

Nevertheless, Orion obeyed, ceased his anxious pacing in front of the study fireplace and sinking into the vacant armchair opposite his father. 

The sound of the early November drizzle pattering against the window combined with the crackling of the firewood was a calming sound, and one which Orion was accustomed to enjoying whilst in his study of an autumn afternoon. 

However, they were sounds which did little to drown out the pained shrieks and moans of his labouring wife on the floor above. 

Orion winced as the latest agonising cry to wrench itself from Walburga's throat rang through the walls of the house. It was far from a pleasant sound. 

And yet each of his fireside companions, Arcturus, Pollux and Cygnus Black, did not seem phased by it, content to sit in silence broken only by the occasional drag on a cigar, clink of ice in a whiskey glass or the occasional impatient tap of fingers on armrests. 

How could they be so still at such a time? It was all Orion could do to keep himself from flinging himself from his chair and resume his pacing, for lack of any other fruitful action to indulge in. 

"There's no point in getting yourself into such a state" barked Arcturus to his son, drawing Orion's attention to the fact that his foot had involuntarily begun tapping impatiently against the carpet. He quickly ceased, tensing his muscles rigid. 

"Pacing about like a caged beast won't bring the child into the world any faster, you know" 

“Merlin knows if it did I’d have been running laps of the house at the birth of each of mine” remarked Cygnus with a chuckle. 

Orion glanced across at his brother-in-law, mildly irked at his almost bored expression as he refilled his whiskey glass at wand-point. Was this is third, already? Had they really been sat here that long? 

“Yes, well, I suppose when one has kept vigil all night only to be presented with a girl by morning three times over, one must find oneself in rather a hurry to get the process over with” said Pollux Black, fixing his son with a withering glare that left the younger man with a twisted grimace that Orion had no doubt was nothing to do with the taste of the liquor. 

It was no secret that Pollux had been disappointed at being presented only with granddaughters by his offspring thus far, and in the lead up to the birth of his first grandson he had become a decidedly more pleasant wizard to be in company with, much to the obvious irritation of his son. 

“At least I’m here, aren’t I?” replied Cygnus, waving a hand in the air. “I daresay Alphard isn’t simply running a little late to the big event, is he?”

“Your brother is abroad and quite un-contactable, as you well know” snapped Pollux, the irritation in his voice growing at the thought of his wayward younger son’s absence. “Besides, this was hardly the most planned of occasion, the child wasn’t due for another week”

He turned away from his sulking son with an exasperated sigh, leaning back into his chair to stare into the fire. 

“But then, Burgie always did like to keep us on our toes” 

At his father-in-law’s words, Orion found himself reaching for the untouched whiskey glass he had neglected until now, but the reminder of his wife’s untimely onset of labour tied his stomach in a knot that could only be loosened by a hit of strong drink. 

It was only a cup of tea. Something as small and silly as a cup of tea made not quite to her liking. But on a day when she was already restless with the aches of her child-heavy body and the frustration of confinement, it was enough to send Walburga over the edge into a fit of anger that had sent the house elf ducking for cover as the bone china teacup was hurled at him from across the room. 

The sound of the china teacup smashing against the wall mingled with his wife’s shouts which were quickly twisted into cries of pain had brought Orion rushing into the room to find Walburga practically bent double, clutching her swollen middle, her face screwed up in agony.

“Don’t fret, dear, it’s barely a week early” his mother, Melania had reassured him as he watched, wide-eyed in alarm as his wife was led away by her mother and his sister, the three women having arrived alongside the menfolk of the family in a matter of minutes after Orion had sent for them.

“Everything will be fine” said the witch with an encouraging smile before gently but firmly steering her son out of the room to join the menfolk downstairs in the library. 

And so, here they were, what felt like endless hours later, sat round the study fireplace with nothing to do but sit and wait for news. 

Orion swallowed a mouthful of whiskey, feeling the fire of the liquid quelling the army of butterflies fluttering about inside him. Although he was nervous - by Salazar, was he nervous - there was something else at play, something that buzzed inside him incessantly that would not be stilled by strong drink. 

Excitement. 

He was going to be a father. 

A smile wrenched itself onto his face involuntarily at the thought.

“What’s the matter, old, boy? Drink finally kicking in?” 

His brother-in-law’s teasing brought Orion out of his thoughts and back to reality. 

Cygnus was slouched back in his seat, head resting against his palms, legs crossed casually. 

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Orion, stiffly. 

“Oh come off it” chuckled Cygnus. “Sitting there with a grin like the kneazle that got the cream is hardly your style. Out with it, man, whats the joke?” 

Orion dealt his brother-in-law a withering look, his patience for his impertinence fast running low. 

“I am awaiting the imminent arrival of my firstborn son and heir. What more reason do I require to smile?” 

If his gaze weren’t so fixated on Cygnus, Orion might have seen the smirk of amused approval on his father’s face.

His second cousin did not reply to the dig at his lack of male offspring. Merely huffed in feigned amusement as he reached inside his robe pocket for his wand, summoning the whiskey carafe over to him for a refill. 

The crystal bottle had scarcely left the table before it slammed back down sharply at the command of Pollux’s own wand. 

“I think you’ve had enough, boy” snapped the elder wizard, fixing his son with a warning glare. 

Defeated, Cygnus slumped back in his seat with a sullen expression and instead dug into the pocket of his robes for his silver cigar case, lighting one with his wand before offering the case across to Orion. 

Orion raised a hand in refusal. In other circumstances he might accept one on courtesy, though he rarely enjoyed them. But this was no time to put up with false pretences. 

Another sharp, prolonged cry from his labouring sister upstairs set Cygnus’s face scrunching into a grimace. He looked for all the world as though there were anywhere in the world he would rather be than awaiting the arrival of his nephew. 

The sound of his wife’s pain cut Orion deep to the core. It was a painful sound in itself to have to listen to, and yet he did not find himself wishing he were anywhere else in the world than right here. 

The night wore on, long and slow, until, at last, in the early hours, the sound of the most almighty scream yet rang through the house, seeming to rattle the walls themselves, until suddenly, all fell deadly silent. 

The four Blacks waiting in tense silence, not one of them daring to so much as shuffle in their seat for fear of missing the moment that was sure to follow. 

And follow it did. 

The silence was broken at last by the wail of an infant, sharp and loud, piercing the silence with it’s essence of life. 

Orion breathed an enormous sigh of relief, a feeling of immense joy washing over him at the sound of his son’s first cry. 

“Congratulations, my boy” came the uncharacteristically cheerful voice of Arcturus. 

Orion looked up to see his father stood over him with an outstretched hand and possibly the widest smile he had ever seen him offer anyone. 

He quickly stood to accept the firm grasp of the handshake. 

“Welcome to fatherhood” said Arcturus with a knowing glint in his eye. 

Orion could not will himself to stop grinning as he accepted the congratulations of the rest of the men in the room.

He was riding so high on the euphoria of it all that he scarcely noticed his father slip away from the group to send an urgent summons for Burke so that the impending ceremony may commence. 

Nor did he notice the door open once more and a female figure half-step into the room with an excited smile on her face. 

“Well?” said Lucretia Black, drawing her brother’s attention to her with a loud clear of her throat. “Don’t you want to come and meet your son?” 

"My son...” Orion practically whispered, still in awe of those words, before a teasing quirk of his sister’s eyebrow brought him back to reality. 

“Yes, of course” he said, smoothing his robes and forcing himself to adopt the outward appearance of a man entirely in control of his emotions - and fooling precisely no one. 

“Remember, first impressions are very important” said Lucretia with a mischievous smirk as she led her brother up the staircase of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place to the master bedroom.

Orion gave his sister a mock-chastising knock on the shoulder in reply whilst inwardly forcing himself to gather his wits about him. 

After all, one only met one’s son and heir once, and first impressions were very important.


	8. May 1959

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Walburga being nervous during pregnancy.

“Was it absolutely necessary to call Healer Farrows so quickly?” 

Walburga flashed her husband a look of mild annoyance from the chaise lounge where she lay stretched out, her arm draped protectively over her middle. 

“Orion Black, are you suggesting that when I have cause for concern regarding the health of our child, that I should simply wait and see if anything comes of it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow up at him. 

“I never suggested such a thing” replied Orion, calmly. It never did to aggravate his wife with argumentative tones in any normal circumstance and now with her condition, it was all the more vital to prevent one of her famous fits of temper from flaring up. 

“I merely meant to point out that Healer Farrows is not the most… economical of Healers. It would do well to ensure that the need for his services is entirely justified before summoning him. After all - this is the third time he has visited in two weeks” 

Walburga turned her head away, her nose in the air stubbornly. 

“I would have thought that there wouldn’t be a price too high for the guarantee of your firstborn son and heir’s well-being” she sniffed haughtily. 

That may be so, Orion thought to himself, but if we summon the most expensive Healer in St. Mungo’s every time you feel a twinge, there’ll be nothing left for the boy to inherit by the time he’s born.   
“Of course” was the reply Orion elected to offer instead, with a stiff but agreeing smile.   
He stepped forward to stand beside his wife at the head of her seat. He paused for a moment, observing her with interest. 

Walburga seemed to sense his eyes on her, for she shifted her position slightly, sitting herself up into a tad more dignified angle and stroking her hand over her slightly-swollen middle. 

At twelve weeks pregnant, the merest hint of a bump was beginning to make itself known under the gowns which she no longer wore as cinched in as she had done for so many years previously. The same triumphant smile that found its way onto her lips every time she stroked her middle appeared as expected and her whole face seemed to glow. 

Pregnancy suited her, Orion thought to himself, fondly. 

His hand reached out to rest on his wife’s shoulder. 

“Was the visit a positive one, at least?” 

“Well, I can assure you that if it hadn’t have been, I wouldn’t be lying here right now so calmly” Walburga retorted with a huff of irritation that her husband knew far too well not to accept as true. 

“It was just a turn” she continued, more humbly. “I felt a little faint and I- I thought for a moment I could feel something… abnormal” 

“Oh?” Orion tilted his head curiously. 

“It was nothing, really” said Walburga, quickly. “I just- I overreacted a little, I suppose” 

Orion squeezed his wife’s shoulder reassuringly. 

“It is quite normal, I’m sure, for you to worry” he said, gently. 

“I was not worried, Orion” Walburga hastened to correct her husband, tensing slightly at the accusation, though she did not shrug off Orion’s hand which still lingered on her shoulder. “Not worried, per say. But I was a little- that is, concerned” 

Orion’s hand left Walburga’s shoulder, lifting higher up to stroke the back of his fingers along her cheek. Her soft skin as flushed with warmth - the result of the stress of her minor moment of panic not long ago. 

“I know” he murmured. 

He did indeed know. He, too, worried. They had tried for so long to conceive a child. And now that their longed-for offspring was finally on the way, both husband and wife were plagued with worries that something may yet go amiss, not that they would see fit to speak their worries aloud to one another, lest the utterance of what could happen may curse it to come true. 

Orion’s hand found its way back to rest on his wife’s shoulder. She was quiet. Quietness was not a state of being that often found a home within Walburga Black. She was a formidable witch, with an aura of bold fearlessness. 

But that did not mean she was without her own inner fears. Fears which were known to no one else. No one else - besides her husband. 

“In future” said Orion, quietly. “I would ask you to ensure that you are quite certain a visit is entirely justified before summoning Farrows to the house. Surely by now he has visited enough times to put your mind at ease for the majority of your concerns. I’m quite sure he would not object to answering an owl with some advice for you should you require any more” 

“Don’t worry, your chequebook can rest easy” Walburga retorted, wryly, glancing up at her husband with a bemused look. “I’ve all the advice I need, for now” 

“Do enlighten me” 

“He says I’m to rest more, in future” Walburga sighed. “And take care not to over-stress myself”

It was evident to her husband that this advice had been met with a certain degree of reluctance - his energetic wife was not one to whittle away her days on a chaise lounge when there was business of organising the house to be done or calls to pay.

But if rest was what the Healer had declared she should have, then rest was what Orion would ensure she was given, whether she liked it or not.

“Very well, then” he said, releasing Walburga’s shoulder from his grip and striding across the room to the writing desk in the corner. “That settles it” 

“Settles what?” Walburga asked, eyeing her husband suspiciously as he took out a fresh sheet of parchment and unscrewed a bottle of ink before taking up his elegant, eagle-feather quill. 

“Orion Black, tell me what you are up to this instant” she demanded, irritably when her husband refused her a reply. 

“I am cancelling the dinner plans with the Rosiers this evening” 

“Whatever for?!” 

Walburga sat herself up, bolt upright, on the sofa, leaning forward, one arm still clasped protectively over her middle. 

“You require rest, madam” said Orion, his eyes darting up at his wife for a moment before he returned to his writing. “And if Farrows says that’s what you must have then I highly doubt a dinner party falls into the category for appropriate evening activities for you today”

“But- you were supposed to finalise the contract with Atticus this evening” said Walburga, somewhat hesitantly. “All that investment-” 

“It hardly matters” Orion cut her off, smoothly. “After all, as you say, there is hardly a price too high to guarantee the well-being of our firstborn son and heir”

For once in her life, Walburga Black was left without a retort. 

She lay back, silently, against the cushions of the chaise lounge and, once sure the angle of her head provided an adequate shield for her face from her husband, allowed a relieved smile to wash over her as she breathed a small, contented smile, her hand stroking over her middle tenderly.


	9. December 1975

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Orion teaching Sirius how to shave.

“Argh, fuck!” 

The sharp shout from further down the hallway made Orion pause dead in his tracks. He looked behind him, towards the direction of the voice - which sounded suspiciously similar to that of his elder son, Sirius. A pained groan followed, echoing down the length of the hallway. 

_What the devil has he done now?_ Orion wondered to himself as he turned on his heels and marched towards the bathroom from which the sounds had come from. 

“Sirius, what are you doing in there?” Orion demanded with a brisk knock on the door. He tried the handle and found it locked. 

“Nothing” murmured an unconvincing voice from inside, followed by a sharp, pained hiss and clattering of something being dropped into the sink. 

“That hardly seems likely” Orion remarked drily. “Open the door this instant” 

“Just- go away!” Sirius snapped from the other side of the door. 

Orion felt his irritation building, as it always did when his son chose to deliberately disobey an order - a far too common occurrence for his liking. 

“If you do not open this door this instant, I will blast the lock open myself-” He withdrew his wand from his pocket to add emphasis to the threat he knew very well he would not have to follow through on. “- and I’ll leave it for you to explain to your mother why the bathroom door is broken” 

A frustrated, typically-teenage groan came from within the bathroom before the door lock finally clicked open and the door swung ajar. 

Orion stared, wide-eyed at the sight before him. His sixteen-year-old son stood beside the sink with his palm clamped firmly over the left side of his face - a futile attempt to hide the steady trickle of blood sliding down his jaw and into the sink.

The collar of the new set of elegant robes, newly purchased by his mother and forced onto the boy amidst much arguing that morning, also bore several large, ugly blood stains.

“What in Salazar’s name have you _done_ , boy?” Orion gasped. 

“Nothing!” Sirius shouted back - a ridiculously childish attempt to hide the truth as he attempted to turn his injured face away from his father’s view. 

“Come here” 

Orion reached forward and firmly turned his son’s face back towards him. The boy stubbornly kept his hand firmly clamped over his injured face, but the location of the wound gave enough of a hint for his father to work out what had happened.

Further confirming his suspicions, Orion glanced down at the sink to see his own ivory-handled cut-throat razor laying at the bottom of the basin, marked with smudged, red fingerprints. 

“Ah... I see” 

Orion had known this day was bound to arrive sooner or later. But his elder son had thus far proved to be as late a starter as Orion himself had been at that age, sporting barely enough facial hair to be noticeable, let alone worth shaving. But now, as he examined the side of Sirius’s face that was not dripping with blood, Orion could see that his son had indeed finally reached the point in which a tidy-up was in order. 

The boy had been home from school for the Christmas holidays for several days now - had this new development suddenly sprung up overnight or had Orion somehow failed to notice until now? 

“You know, it is customary to seek advice from one more experienced before attempting such a thing for the first time” said Orion as he tilted his son’s chin up to try and get a better view of the damage.

“I did” Sirius snapped with a scowl, pulling away from Orion’s grip. “I asked James” 

“I meant from one’s _father_ ” Orion clarified. “Particularly since you’ve seen fit to help yourself to my razor”

“It’s not that hard, I don’t need help!” 

“The evidence is overwhelmingly against you, my boy” Orion said wryly, glancing around critically at the blood-stained bathroom. “Come here, let me see what you’ve done” 

Sirius, no doubt seeing the clear futility of disobeying, reluctantly stepped forward and allowed his father to pull his hand away from his face. 

Orion stifled a sharp breath at the sight of the ugly gash across his son’s jaw. The unforgiving razor blade had sliced deep into the boy’s skin, the cut leaking a steady and constant ooze of blood which dripped into the sink below. 

“Hold still” he ordered as Sirius instinctively tried to pull away at the sight of his father pulling out his wand. 

“I can fix it myself” Sirius protested, weakly. 

Orion raised an eyebrow. 

“Somehow I doubt that” he said, tilting his son’s chin up, gently but firmly. “And stop that petty scowling. You ought to be glad it was me who found you in such a state and not your mother” 

Sirius squirmed awkwardly at the thought, his scowl fading. 

Orion traced his wand tip along the boy’s cheek, just above the cut, stifling an amused smile at Sirius’s failed attempt to suppress a grimace of pain as the healing spell did its work, knitting the skin back together without leaving so much as a hint of a scar.

With his son’s face healed and both him and the bathroom cleaned of all trace of blood, Orion retrieved his razor from the sink and tapped it clean with his wand as well. 

“Now-” he tapped the blade with his wand tip once more, casting a silent spell to dull the blade a little before holding it out to Sirius. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Sirius silently took the blade, avoiding his father’s gaze as he moved back in front of the mirror.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Orion asked as Sirius lifted the razor towards his face. 

Sirius paused, puzzled. 

Orion smiled in amusement as he tapped his wand against the side of the sink and a pot of shaving cream and brush appeared. 

“Oh. Yeah” Sirius murmured lowly as he reached for the items, keeping his head down so as to hide his face from his father behind his hair. 

“The Potter boy certainly wasn’t a very reliable source if he neglected to advise you to properly prepare the area before attempting to shave it” Orion’s voice was heavy with dislike. 

Under normal circumstances, any critical mention of Sirius’s school friends would spark an angry argument with the boy. But these were not normal circumstances the father and son had found themselves in.

Orion watched, bemused, as Sirius applied the cream with fumbling fingers. It was remarkable how his stubborn, headstrong son was reduced to a self-conscious mess under his father’s watch. 

“Slow down, slow down” Orion urged, reaching out to still his son’s shaking hand as he over-enthusiastically raised the blade towards his face. “You’ll only cut yourself again, attempting to go that fast” 

Sirius pulled his hand free from his father’s hold. 

“I know how to do it” he protested stubbornly. “I just- slipped, last time” 

Orion dealt his son a knowing look which caused the boy to look away. 

“If you think I would believe _that_ , then you are not quite as bright as your school reports would have me believe” 

Sirius’s gaze flickered at the mention of his school reports. Was this the first time the subject had been brought up without mentioning the many reports of bad behaviour that had marred his excellent marks? 

Orion, standing behind his son in front of the mirror, placed his hand over Sirius’s gripping the blade. The boy’s shaking hand stilled in his father’s grip.

“Now, apply the blade gently and slowly” Orion instructed, placing his other hand on Sirius’s shoulder to help steady him. 

In spite of his stubborn expression, Sirius’s nerves were clear to see in the way his eyes anxiously followed the blade as he stroked it along the length of his cheek under his father’s careful steering. 

“There- You see?” said Orion as the first streak of clean-shaved and cut-free skin appeared in the blade’s wake. “It is not that difficult a task - under proper direction” 

Sirius wordlessly cleaned the blade under the tap, keeping his eyes low to avoid his father’s gaze. 

“Now, try it on your own” 

Orion took a step backwards, folding his arms expectantly as he watched his son in the mirror. 

Sirius’s self-consciousness was clear to see. But, nevertheless, he raised the blade to his face again and delivered, a slow, clean stroke across his cheek - just as his father had taught him. 

Orion nodded in approval. 

“Good” he said. “I trust I can leave you to finish up in the knowledge that you’re no longer at risk of slitting your own throat?” 

Sirius flushed slightly at the comment but nodded. 

“Yeah” he said plainly as he cleaned the blade under the tap. 

There was a long pause - long enough for Orion to begin to wonder if he was going to have to remind his son of the importance of proper manners, before Sirius finally uttered a meek “Thanks” 

Orion gave another approving nod. 

“Your mother will be home in time for tea in an hour” he said, turning for the door. “Ensure you are presentable by then” 

As he left the room and continued his original journey down the hallway, Orion felt an odd feeling stir inside him. It was a peculiar feeling of loss, triggered by the step his eldest boy had just taken towards no longer being a boy. 

A bittersweet day indeed for any father. 

Orion buried the feeling under the heavy weight of rational sensibility. It wouldn’t do to get needlessly emotional over what was only natural and proper progression.


	10. 3rd November 1960

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts - Sirius's first birthday and Walburga telling Orion she's pregnant again.

Orion breathed a sigh of relief as the flickering green flames of the Floo fireplace finally faded away, carrying away with them the final party guest. He took a moment to savour the silence of the drawing room, broken only by the sound of raindrops pelting against the window glass outside.

November, this year, had dawned with a foul, icy temper more akin to the depths of January than mid-autumn. Such weather often brought with it a sense of gloom and melancholy - but there was no weather horrid enough to dampen Orion’s mood today.

He smiled indulgently as he listened to the raindrops hammering against the windows of the house. It had been raining on this day last year, too.

His task of seeing out the last of their guests now complete, Orion made his way through the room - past the many end-tables littered with abandoned drinks glasses and plates of canapes - and returned to the parlour to rejoin his wife. 

Walburga sat on the sofa by the roaring fire, with their son, Sirius, sat on her lap - one-year-old today and the subject of the afternoon's celebrations.

"That's Slughorn away, at last" said Orion as he strode across the room to stand beside his seated wife. He breathed a sigh of relief as the warmth of the fire washed over him, keeping the early November chill at bay.

"Finally" Walburga sighed, rolling her eyes. "Horace never did know how to recognise the polite time to leave a party"

There was a weariness to her voice, brought on by the effort of playing hostess to the large gathering of family and associates which had filled their house for most of the day in honour of Sirius’s first birthday.

The boy in question sat upright in his mother’s lap, far more awake than he had any right to be at such an hour and clutching at the silver rattle which he had clung to determinedly for most of the day.

"Such a peculiar gift" Walburga shook her head as Sirius gave the toy a vigorous shake and giggled delightedly at the loud rattling noise it made. "I can't think what good Alphard thought would come of giving him such a silly thing"

In truth, when his wife's youngest brother had presented him with the shining silver object in its sleek, black case, with Sirius’s name and birth date engraved on the handle, Orion hadn't immediately twigged exactly what it was. An ornament of some sort?

"It's a  _ toy _ for the child, of course" Alphard had chuckled at his brother-in-law's obliviousness. "What  _ else _ would it be?"

Considering the nature of the other gifts he had accepted on behalf of his infant son throughout the day, Orion didn't think his lack of immediate understanding quite so inexcusable.

From Orion's own father, Sirius had received a large, leather-bound volume on the history and lineage of the Black family - an exact duplicate of the book Orion himself owned and which also took pride of place on display in Arcturus’s study at Noire House. A key text for any heir to the House of Black, the patriarch had insisted, regardless of the fact that Sirius was several years away from knowing what it was, let alone being able to read it.

From Walburga’s own parents, a gold-framed, hand-painted image of the Black family crest had been received, with Sirius’s name in shining gold lettering beneath it, which the elf had already been sent to hang up in the boy's nursery.

Cygnus and Druella's gift to their young nephew consisted of a set of gold-brocaded dress robes, which Walburga had politely accepted before shooing the elf away to hide them. She'd always found gold vulgar, she later murmured to her husband. Silver was far more elegant.

Indeed only one other of Sirius’s many birthday gifts had been a toy - and it had proved by far to have been the worst-received.

A large and beady-eyed stuffed toy serpent from Horace Slughorn.

"Another young Black to look forward to!" the professor had boomed as he'd over-enthusiastically brandished the serpent at the baby in Walburga’s arms. "A true Slytherin, born and bred"

A moment later, his almost-smug smile had faded, his moustache twitching with concern as the infant Sirius screwed up his face and began to wail, thrashing in his mother’s grasp to avoid the toy snake.

Alphard's gift, on the other hand, had been met with such enthusiastic approval by Sirius that it had proved almost impossible to take it from him for the rest of the afternoon. Any attempt to pry the silver rattle from his fingers had been met with such distraught (and loud) protest that his parents had given up, allowing him to keep hold of it for the sake of not spoiling the occasion with one of their son's fierce tantrums which he was fast becoming known for.

"You'll spoil that boy, coddling him so" Arcturus had barked disapprovingly at Orion as the offending toy was returned once more to Sirius’s outstretched, starfish hands. "Firm discipline - proper handing, that's what he needs"

Orion had never been one to openly disagree with his father, as a rule. But when he looked at his own son, smiling delightedly at the toy in his grasp on his birthday, he failed to see anything about the scene which warranted Arcturus’s disapproving scowl.

"Yes, Father" he'd replied dutifully as he led the elder man away into the crowd in search of distraction from the current, unfortunate topic.

The clock above the parlour fireplace chimed. Seven o'clock.

"We ought to send for the nursemaid," said Orion, somewhat reluctantly. "The boy ought to be asleep by now"

Walburga’s fingers tightened slightly around the toddler in her lap.

"Just a few more minutes" she said, as though it were she herself being sent up to bed. Her gaze flickered up for a moment and caught sight of her husband's questioning look. "I'd just like to- sit a while, is all. It's been a long day"

"Indeed, it has" Orion agreed, staring into the embers in the hearth and savouring the peace they had not known all day.

The quiet tranquillity was shattered by a sharp, rattling noise as their infant son gave the toy rattle another vigorous shake.

"Little scamp" Orion chuckled as he leaned down to pat the boy's mop of black hair. "We'd best take that toy away from him. I daresay he won't sleep a wink with it in his grasp"

"He won't be parted from it," Walburga said, looking down at her son with mild disapproval. "Your son knows his own mind already"

"Just like his mother"

She tilted her head away and bit the inside of her cheek, but Orion knew the telltale signs of his wife's hidden smiles like the back of his hand.

"He certainly isn't one for sharing" Orion added as he outstretched a hand towards his son, who attempted to hide his toy in his arms defiantly in response.

"He'll have to learn, soon"

"Pardon?"

"He'll have to learn to share"

Walburga's voice was quiet, hinting.

"And what, precisely, do you mean by that?"

A pregnant pause followed - the air saturated with foreshadowing. Even little Sirius did not dare break the moment with a shake of his rattle.

Walburga stared down at the floor, her face tense with the effort of attempting to keep a smile from her lips, a look easily spotted by her husband's keen eye.

"Are you hiding something from me, madam?" Orion demanded, in that voice so oozing with fatherly authority which he seemed to have acquired the moment their son was born, exactly a year ago today.

Under the weight of _that_ voice, Walburga gave in at last. She looked up at her husband, her silver eyes glittering with excitement.

"I'm expecting"

Orion felt a lurch of joy springing to life within him, with all the force of a cheetah pouncing out into the savanna.

"Again?" he whispered - the only word he could force out through his shock.

Walburga nodded, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

"Yes" she answered, breathlessly. "Next summer. I'm not far along at all, barely a week in fact. But after last time, I just-"

She took a moment to compose herself. Her hands had begun shaking with excitement and she tightened her hold on the baby in her lap to steady them.

"After last time, I just knew. So I went to visit Healer Farrows yesterday, and he confirmed it"

"And- did he say...  _ what _ it is?"

Walburga shook her head.

"It's too early to tell. We won't know for a few more weeks, yet. But I'm _sure_ it will be a boy. I can feel it"

"Another boy..."

Four years of worry, they had endured. Of uncertainty and dread. And now here they were, on the birthday of their firstborn son and heir, expecting a second son.

Orion draped his arm around Walburga’s shoulders and squeezed protectively.

"What a truly blessed day" he sighed, smiling down at his wife and son.

Walburga grasped the hand on her shoulder with her own and squeezed, smiling up at him in agreement. Her other arm tightened around their infant son, holding him tight to her. 

Orion suddenly frowned at the stillness of Sirius in her lap - the boy had fallen curiously still in the last few moments. He peered closer and saw he had fallen fast asleep, leaning against his mother’s chest, the infamous rattle in danger of slipping out of his grasp at last.

"Peace at last' Orion remarked with a quiet chuckle, being careful not to wake the sleeping child. "We really ought to send him up now"

Walburga ran her fingers softly through her son’s hair and sighed contentedly.

"Just a few more minutes"


	11. September 1966

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "Bed. Now."

"Boys, I know you're in here. Come out at once"

Orion wondered for a moment if he was going to have to repeat the order, when finally, the armchair in the corner of the drawing room was slowly pushed forward and his two young sons crawled out from behind the squashed space between it and the wall.

Orion stepped forward to stand over the two pyjama-clad boys. He unfastened his travelling cloak, a slight cloud of dust from the Floo fireplace floating down to the floor, and slung it over the arm of the sofa for the elf to deal with later.

"Now, would either of you care to explain to me what you are both doing out of bed at this hour?" He folded his arms expectantly.

Five-year-old Regulus looked suitably sorrowful for their crimes, staring woefully down at his slippers.

His elder brother, however, stared boldly up at his father, wide-eyed and unapologetic.

"We were waiting for you, Papa" said Sirius.

"You both ought to be asleep at this hour" Orion scolded. "This is no hour for children to be awake, especially for no good reason"

He turned to his younger son.

"Regulus?" The boy flinched at the sound of his name. "Have you nothing to say?"

A pair of grey eyes, wide as saucers and glistening wetly, peeked up at him before returning to stare at his slippers.

"Sorry, Papa" said Regulus.

Orion gave a silent, satisfied nod before returning his attention to his elder son.

"Sirius?"

"But we _did_ have a good reason!" Sirius protested defiantly. Orion raised his eyebrows in surprise at the boy’s nerve. "We had to wait for you to come home"

"And why, pray tell, is that?" Orion forced himself to stifle his peculiar urge to smile. It wouldn't do to let his air of authority slip.

"You haven't seen the work I did today"

Sirius stuck his hand into the pocket of his dressing gown and dug out a crumpled piece of parchment. He held it up to Orion.

Taken aback, Orion took the parchment from the boy and smoothed it out. He peered at the shaky pencil lines and wobbly letters laid out in what appeared to be some sort of diagram.

"It's _us_ " said Sirius, clearly impatient with his father’s lack of reaction.

Realisation dawned on Orion as he stared closer at the parchment. He realised that the clusters of untidy letters formed a collection of names, all connected by the wobbly lines. A family tree. _Their_ family tree.

Orion cleared his throat and stiffened.

"Yes, well" he said, folding the parchment neatly and slipping it into his pocket. "You ought to have waited until tomorrow to show me. Instead of seeing fit to go creeping about the house unattended. You know full well you are not allowed downstairs unsupervised, particularly at this hour"

Sirius’s bottom lip stuck out in a frustrated pout, his face furrowing into an all-too-familiar scowl.

Orion prayed the boy wouldn't launch himself into one of his infamous tantrums. The last thing he needed was for Walburga to awaken and realise this unsuitable state of affairs and ignite her famously loud temper. His head pounded enough already from the lateness of the hour at which he'd been obliged to remain at the Rosiers'. It never did to leave a party early, but Orion was far from a lover of late night functions.

To his relief, Sirius simply fell into a sulk, folding his arms across his chest and scowling down at the floor.

"Have you nothing else to say, Sirius?"

It was quite clear from Orion’s tone what the father expected of his son, and Sirius was a bright and clever boy who surely knew what he was expected to say next. However, he was also a boy prone to ignoring what he clearly knew was the right thing to do.

"No" he said in a voice as bold as brass.

Orion’s face fell into a deep, disappointed frown.

"Very well then" he said, and pointed to the doorway leading to the staircase. "Bed. Now. I will speak with your mother about this in the morning"

The eyes of both boys flickered with alarm at the mention of their mother. But whereas Regulus maintained his appropriately-worried demeanour, Sirius’s defiant glare was firmly back in place a moment later.

"Fine" he said and grabbed his younger brother's hand.

The pair of them headed towards the staircase, Sirius marching, Regulus simply being pulled along.

Orion watched his boys leave and sighed hopelessly. They really ought to deal with this worrying rebellious streak which seemed to be taking hold in their eldest son soon, before the weeds of insolence were too firmly rooted within him to be killed off.

His hand found his way into his robes pocket, his fingers running over the scrap of parchment his son had broken so many rules to give him. He would have to ensure it was properly filed away before it was further damaged.


	12. March 1967

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "You don't know how to tie your shoes?"

"I won't wear them!" Sirius shouted out from under his bed - his go-to hiding spot when being pursued for one of his many misdemeanours. The subject of today's crime was a pair of smart, black leather lace-up shoes which Sirius had loudly declared several times to his governess that he was absolutely not going to wear.

Ida Knowles, his increasingly-frustrated governess, folded her arms across her chest in an attempt to emulate the stern, commanding image of her employer and Sirius’s mother, Walburga Black.

"Really, Sirius, all this over a pair of shoes?" Ida asked in an as authoritative a voice as she could muster, given her tender age and lack of experience in her post. "Come out of there now and put them on, please"

"They're stupid and ugly and I'm not wearing them!" came Sirius’s muffled, determined voice from under the bed.

Ida sighed hopelessly. Time was against her. Mrs Black was expecting both of her sons to be present in the drawing room in fifteen minutes, ready for the imminent arrival of the expected relatives. And she would expect the pair of them to be properly dressed in the robes she'd had specially made for the pair of them in honour of the occasion - with matching shoes.

"You wouldn't want me to fetch your mother, would you, Sirius?"

It was a line Ida tried her best not to use too often, but Sirius could be such a stubborn, difficult child to deal with, and the only thing that would coerce the boy into obeying other than the actual presence of his mother was the threat to have her brought to do battle with him herself. A battle which Sirius knew very well he would never win.

"You know she's expecting you and Regulus downstairs in a few minutes, ready for when your grandparents arrive" Ida suppressed a sneaky smirk."I wonder what you'll tell her when she asks why your brother is wearing his smart new shoes and you aren't?"

Silence from under the bed. Ida held her breath as she waited for Sirius's reaction. A slight, unsure shuffling noise was the only sound which came from under the bed.

Ida smiled triumphantly to herself. The threat of the displeasure of Walburga Black was enough to subdue anyone to obedience.

"Now, how about you come out of there and finish getting dressed?' Ida asked firmly.

There was a moment's silence just long enough to make Ida wonder if she was going to have to ask again - before the eight-year-old boy finally crawled, slowly but surely, out from under the bed.

"Good" Ida smoothed down her young chargers creased robes. She took out her wand, gave it a flick and the dreaded pair of shoes flew into the room and landed at Sirius’s feet, the black leather shining in the light. "Now, put your shoes on and we'll go and fetch your brother and go downstairs"

Sirius didn't move. He froze to the spot, his shoulders tensed and his fists clenched as he stared down at the shoes with a burning hatred evident in his stormy grey eyes.

"Come on, Sirius, put them on, please"

Finally, Sirius slowly slipped each of his socked feet into a shoe. And then he froze again.

Ida observed him, curiously.

"Aren't you going to tie them?" she asked, eyeing the limp laces.

Sirius continued to stare downward furiously. His silence offered more answers than he he surely would have liked.

Realisation dawned on Ida.

"You don't know how to tie your shoes?" she asked, softly.

Sirius tried to bolt for the door. Ida instinctively reached out to grab him and her hand closed around his arm just in time to save him from falling to the floor as he tripped over his own still-untied laces in his haste.

"Sirius, wait" Ida pulled him gently back towards her and held him by his shoulders - a token gesture, for the boy seemed to know when he was well and truly caught.

"Did no one ever teach you to tie them?"

Sirius did not try to run again, but nor could be bring himself to speak a reply. He shook his head once, his face flushed red with anger or embarrassment (or both, perhaps).

Ida sighed sympathetically. Sirius was eight years old - how could it be that no one had taught him this basic life skill yet?

"Did you last governess not teach you?"

Sirius shook his head again, still refusing to look up at Ida.

"She said it wasn't worth the hassle" he muttered, his cheeks reddening further.

Ida's stomach gave a guilty jolt. Sirius was far from an easy child to deal with - how many times had she herself sighed hopelessly at the thought of a task which risked another of Sirius's famous fits of temper brewing?

She envisioned her predecessor - the stern, portly old matron of a woman that they boys had described to her - giving an impatient flick of her wand for the boy's laces to tie themselves into neat bows and save herself a few precious minutes of time and sparing herself the hassle of having to deal with a child who so struggled to admit there was something he didn't know, let alone submit to being taught how to do it.

Had the boys' mother not even realised that he sons hadn't been taught how to tie their shoes?

Far from the first time in her limited time in the Black household, Ida shook her head at the tragic detachment between the parents and children of the house - so alien compared to the close-knit family she herself had been raised in.

"Right," Ida said determinedly. She sank to her knees, putting herself on Sirius’s level. "Watch me closely. I'll tie them for you once, and then we'll untie them and do it again together. And then you can do them again on your own. Alright?"

To her surprise, Sirius did not pull away and shout his angry protests. His grey eyes flickered up from the floor and he nodded in a way which one could almost call meek. Ida hadn't thought he was capable of such a look.

She smiled kindly at him and began their lesson.

Ten minutes later, Sirius’s shoes were tied for the third and final time - at last by his own hesitant, shaking fingers.

"Well done, you did it!" Ida grinned at him, and was surprised to receive a slight sweet smile in reply - a first.

What wonders one could find if one devoted the effort into finding them.

"Now, come on, let's go fetch your brother and go downstairs"

Ida held out her hand, and Sirius took it.

"Ida?" said Sirius suddenly before they'd reached the door.

"Yes?" Ida looked down at him.

"Thanks"

His voice was quiet, shy, the opposite of everything Ida had come to expect from her young charge. It filled her with a warm, satisfying sensation.

"You're welcome, Sirius"


	13. 1st September 1971

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Orion and Walburga's reaction to Sirius being sorted into Gryffindor.

It should have been a quiet, uneventful evening like any other at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Dinner served promptly at eight, followed by coffee in the drawing room with his wife and the evening issue of the Prophet.

  
And so, Orion was most displeased to instead find himself caught in up the midst of a storm of drama at a time when he ought to be rounding the evening off with quiet nightcap in the seclusion of his study, savouring the news from Phineas Nigellus's portrait that Sirius, like each of his ancestors before him, had taken his rightful place at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall of Hogwarts and was settling in for his first night away at school.

  
Because, in a burst of surprise which Orion was far from used to encountering in his carefully-planned everyday life, Sirius - his firstborn son and heir - had become the first ever Black to be shunned by the prestigious house of Salazar Slytherin, and had instead been relegated to Gryffindor house.

  
"It's a disgrace!" Walburga shrieked as she paced furiously up and down the drawing room. So caught up was she in her own fury that she seemed not to notice the irritated way her husband rubbed at his temple with each of her continued outbursts. "An absolute disgrace! A Black - _our son,_ in Gryffindor - it hardly bears thinking about"

  
She wrinkled her nose in distaste and glared into the flames flickering in the fireplace. Several moments of silence passed before, clearly impatient with her husband's lack of response, she whipped her head round to where he sat, peering thoughtfully into the page of the newspaper on his lap, his fingers gripped around the handle of his coffee cup.

  
Orion himself had scarcely spoken a word since his great-grandfather's painted figure had departed several minutes preciously, having delivered the unfortunate news directly from Hogwarts itself.

  
"Have you nothing to say, Orion?" Mrs Black demanded, rounding on her husband, her arms folded across her chest expectantly.

  
"I can't imagine what there is to say which might prove useful to the situation" Orion said evenly, his eyes still fixed downward at the article before him. His fingers tightened around the hot china of the coffee cup. It ought to be cool enough to sip in a moment, he mused.

  
"Our son-" Walburga seethed. "-has been insulted by that rag of a hat, and you have nothing to say on the matter?"

  
Orion’s gaze finally flickered up to meet his wife's accusing stare.

  
"Really, Walburga, I feel you are blowing this out of proportion. I agree, it is... unexpected. But it is hardly the end of the world"

  
Walburga’s cheeks flushed scarlet.

  
"Sirius Orion’s prospects at that school will be ruined in that house!" she snapped angrily. "How is he to develop the necessary connections that Slytherin would have assured him? Not to mention the untold filth he'll be mixing with in Gryffindor. He'll be exposed to Merlin knows what ridiculous ideas!"

Orion took a sip of his coffee. The hot liquid burned its way down his throat, distracting him from his growing irritation with his wife's hysterics.

  
"Sirius is a bright and social boy" he said as he set the cup back on its saucer. "I'm quite sure he will have no trouble acquiring the connections expected of him, whichever house he is in"

  
Walburga sniffed disapprovingly.

  
"I still don't like it" she said, resuming her pacing. "It isn't right! No Black has ever been placed outside of Slytherin. What will people _say?_ "

  
"Nothing of any value, I'm sure"

  
"You ought to write to the school. Tonight. Demand that old fool Dumbledore move him immediately, before he gets too settled"

  
"You know full well I cannot do that"

  
"And why not?"

  
Walburga’s eyes were alright either fury as she marched across the room to stand before her husband's chairs glaring daggers down at him.

  
"The Sorting Hat's word is final, you know that as well as I" Orion kept his gaze fixed firmly down at his paper as he set his cup back down on the coffee table. "There is very little that either I or Dumbledore can do about it, therefore I see very little point in causing an unnecessary fuss"

  
"Our eldest son's scholastic career is facing ruin before it's even begun and you see little point in causing an unnecessary fuss?"

  
Walburga balled her fists tightly in such a petulant display that Orion half-expected her to stamp her foot for good measure.

  
"Perhaps I ought to write him myself, if you will not" Walburga turned away to stand before the fireplace once again, leaving her husband to absorb her threat.

  
"You will do no such thing"

  
"And why shouldn't I?" Orion looked up to see a fierce defiance alight in his wife's features which reminded him startlingly of the boy at the heart of their disagreement. "After all, if _you_ will not stand up for the dignity of this family then I suppose it falls to me to-"

  
"Control yourself, madam" Orion tossed his paper aside and rose to his feet with startling swiftness, as though he had been poised to strike for any length of time.

  
A faint flicker of alarm flashed in Walburga’s grey eyes as she took in her husband's stern glare.

  
At last. A _crumb_ of deference.

  
Orion strode towards the fireplace to stand over his wife, staring down at her imposing.

  
"The Hat has placed Sirius in Gryffindor and he, we and everyone else must make do with it. I will not draw further attention to the matter by sending hysterical pleas to that wily old half-blood for the sake of what will certainly be a fruitless outcome"

  
"But the family-"

  
"-will get used to the idea" Orion said firmly, silencing Walburga’s argument. "Sirius will excel at school and prove himself worthy, in spite of his sorting. It is, after all, just a school house"

  
Walburga narrowed her eyes up at her husband, clearly un-subdued.

  
"You might be content to accept defeat in this matter, Orion Black, but I am not"

  
"Then you should endeavour to learn to be" Orion snapped in reply, reaching the end of his tether at last. He turned away from his wife and headed towards the door.

  
"Where are you going?"

  
"To the study. I have important matters to attend to. I'll thank you not to disturb me"

  
"Very well" Walburga called after him. "If it is solitude you desire, then I'll ensure the elf turns down the bed in your dressing room"

  
Orion felt his stomach lurch with disappointment as he climbed the staircase.

  
The prospect of writing this most dreaded of letters to his father - breaking the unfortunate news of his son’s sorting - was uncomfortable enough to think of, let alone without the soothing thought of a night beside his wife to revitalise him before the arrival of the dreaded, furious reply his owl would surely drop into his lap the next morning.


	14. July 1976 - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "If you don't like it, leave"

"What the hell is all this rubbish?"

  
Regulus looked up from where he sat cross-legged on his bed, his thoughts buried deep in the Arithmancy textbook open in his lap.

  
His elder brother stood in the doorway of his bedroom, slouched sideways against the frame, his face twisted into a grimace of disgust at Regulus's bedroom walls.

  
"I wouldn't call it rubbish" Regulus replied stiffly, keeping his eyes fixed firmly down at the numbers on the page.

  
" _I_ would" said Sirius as he strode into the room, uninvited but unperturbed. He lifted the silver-embroidered corner of one of the several large, green Slytherin banners that Regulus had added to his bedroom walls in recent days. "Come on, Reg, why would you want to go and plaster your walls with all this mess?"

  
Regulus let out a stifled huff.

  
"What?" Sirius demanded, folding his arms.

  
"That's a bit rich, is all, wouldn't you say?"

  
The fourteen-year-old's voice was quiet, muted, but his elder brother looked as put out as if Regulus had shouted the accusation at him.

  
Sirius never took kindly to remarks about his own gaudy display of red-and-scarlet Gryffindor banners.

  
"At least I decorate _my_ walls with symbols of bravery and decency" Sirius replied with a haughty toss of his shaggy black hair - unconsciously handsome, as ever. "Not all this... slimy crap"

  
He tossed the corner of the serpent banner out of his hand, the silk rippling like water as it settled against the wall once more.

  
"It is not crap" Regulus shot to his brother in a voice not quite strong enough to be a snap, but enough for Sirius to know he had crossed a line.

  
But then, there were very few lines that Sirius had ever expressed regret in having crossed.

  
"Don't be daft Reg, of course it is"

  
The elder boy's gaze suddenly fixed on the wall above Regulus's bed.

  
"Bloody hell, Reg, what have you gone and done that for?" Sirius snorted a laugh as he gestured to the large image of the Black family crest which Regulus had painstakingly painted on the wall only yesterday. "Could you have _been_ any more ostentatious?"

  
"It's out family's crest" Regulus replied in proud defence, stifling his growing irritation with his brother's attitude.

  
"Yeah, and that's precisely what's wrong with it" Sirius leaned in close to read the precise, golden, italic words carefully painted beneath the crest. " _'Toujours Pur'_ \- what a load of bull"

  
Regulus cringed at his brother's coarse language and buried his nose deeper into his textbook, desperately trying to focus on the numbers which stubbornly refused to imprint themselves on his mind.

  
"What're you reading, anyway?" Sirius cocked his head sideways to examine the book. "Arithmancy? Really, Reg? Schoolwork in the summer hols?"

  
" _Some_ of us care to take an interest in self-improvement" Regulus sniffed haughtily.

  
"So you're telling me it has nothing at all to do with that look Dad gave you when he read that A on your end-of-year report yesterday?"

  
Regulus's shoulders tensed, his fingers tightening their grip on the book. His cheeks flushed with warmth.

  
"I knew it" Sirius snorted with a triumphant smirk. "I don't know what you're bothering for, Reg. Its only school, after all. It doesn't matter"

  
Regulus felt himself burn with indignation. It was easy enough for _him_ to say. Sirius always achieved irritatingly-high marks for one who was always so openly lazy when it came to studying - marks Regulus had always had to work extra hard to have a hope of keeping up with, and never quite managing it.

  
" _Some_ of us like to make an effort"

  
Sirius snorted another laugh and leaned back against the wall beside the bed, rumpling the silk Slytherin banner behind him.

  
"What's the point in worrying about academics, anyway?" asked Sirius with a shrug of his shoulders. "It's not like you've got career prospects. Not in this family" 

  
Regulus recognised the all-too-familiar note of resentment in his brother's voice. He peeked up from his book for just a second and saw that Sirius's face had darkened dangerously.

  
"There are... expectations" he offered, weakly, turning back to his book.

  
Sirius did not bark out a laugh, did not offer a snarky reply. A moment of tense silence hung between the two brothers.

  
"It will never be enough for him, you know" Sirius’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke. "You could chuck a bit of parchment in front of him with straight O's across the board and you still won't get a 'well done' out of him"

  
Regulus's stomach churned.

  
"That's not the point"

  
"Well what _is,_ then?" Sirius demanded sharply, staring down at his brother.

  
Regulus did not reply. His eyes remained fixed on the sums on the page before him. He must have read the same sum ten times by now, but the information just didn't seem to absorb into his mind, however hard he tried.

  
Frustrated, Sirius turned away and paced across the room.

  
"Really - what's the point in all of it? All this?" He waved his arms in the air, gesturing to the green-and-silver walls.

  
Regulus peered up at his brother, who continued to pace the length of the room. He reminded the younger boy of a caged lion.

  
"I'll tell you what the point is - there isn't one!" Sirius ranted, his anger clearly growing. "Not to any of it. It's all just a load of crap, the lot of it"

  
Just as Regulus began to worry that his brother's latest fit of temper might lead to him tearing down his banners, Sirius seemed to simmer down again, his scowl replaced once more by a mocking smirk.

  
Regulus felt himself relax a little. The speed with which his elder brother's mood could change never ceased to unnerve him.

  
"I'll tell you what though, Reg, if you weren't shackled to this spectacle of a family, I wouldn't recommend you for a career in interior design, that's for sure"

  
The way Sirius laughed cruelly as he shook his head at the silver-and-green walls was the straw that finally broke the donkey's back. Regulus slammed his book closed and set it aside, fixing his brother with a hard stare.

  
"If you don't like it, leave" he snapped coldly.

  
Sirius froze, staring back at his brother with a look equally as chilly, his cocky smirk now nowhere to be seen.

  
"Alright" Sirius finally replied, quietly, his face drained of all visible emotion. "Perhaps I will"

  
The elder boy slowly turned to leave the room, his hands thrust deep into his pockets as he walked. He did not look back as he left his brother's room, slamming the door closed on his way out.

  
Regulus winced as the slam rang through the room and shuddered the banners on his walls. He felt a familiar moist feeling begin to brim in his eyes - a sensation which always seemed to coincide with an altercation with his brother - and bit the inside of his cheek hard to stifle his emotions back down.

  
He opened the book to the page of the sum he had been stuck on and buried his gaze deep into the numbers, hoping against hope that _this_ time, the information would stick.


	15. May 1960

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Baby Sirius is teething.

Orion’s grip tightened so hard around his quill that he feared it might snap. He stared down at the document he had been attempting to finish editing for hours now, but to no avail. For every time he attempted to set his mind firmly to the task of marking required edits in the draft copy of the business proposition his father had given him the job of arranging between the Black and Bulstrode estates, his efforts were thwarted by the sound of yet another piercing shriek ringing through the house from the nursery on the floor above. 

Sirius, his six-month-old son, had not stopped crying for more than a few minutes at a time for most of the previous night and now the current day. He cried relentlessly, loudly and strongly. It seemed that there was nothing with the power to placate the child. At least, that seemed the most logical explanation that Orion could assume. As father and head of the house, there were far more pressing matters more suited to his attention than to the care of a child. That far more feminine of work was the domain of the women of the household - namely, the boy’s mother and nursemaid. 

Orion practically tossed his quill onto its stand and leaned back into his chair with a heavy sigh of defeat. He rubbed at his throbbing temple, wishing beyond hope that the child would just be quiet long enough for him to finish this one task. Was it really too much to ask? 

Gritting his teeth, he rose from his chair and marched out of the study, intent on getting to the bottom of this most troublesome obstruction to the completion of his work. 

“In the name of _Salazar_ , what is the meaning of all this noise?” he demanded of his wife, whom he found sat at her writing desk in the corner of the parlour. 

Walburga looked up from the letter she appeared to be attempting to write, but from the furrowing of her brow and distinct lack of writing on the parchment laid out before her, Orion suspected that his wife was finding their son’s incessant wails as hindering to her own tasks as he was his own.

When she looked up at her husband, however, Walburga’s expression turned to one of tired irritation - at him. 

“This _‘noise’_ , Orion, is your son” she quipped, dipping her quill determinedly into the ink pot. A little too determinedly - several spots of ink dripped from the overloaded nib as she withdrew it. 

“I am perfectly aware of _what_ the noise is, madam” Orion replied, stepping forward. “What I am not aware of is what is intended to be _done_ about it, and why it has been allowed to persist thus far” 

Walburga arched a perfectly-shaped eyebrow and fixed her husband with a knowing look. 

“Sirius Orion is teething” she said. “It is a painful process, and one which is perfectly normal for a child of his age to express a fair degree of displeasure towards. That is all. It will pass, in time” 

“That is all?” Orion repeated, unsatisfied. “Is there no way of calming him? Or are we to suffer this racket until the boy’s trouble has passed?”

“Of course there are ways” Walburga sighed impatiently. “I’m quite sure the maid will have attempted the appropriate remedies-”

“I can hardly believe that. If she had, perhaps I might have had the peace and quiet required to finish this damned business proposition draft, by now” 

“If it is peace and quiet you require, perhaps you ought to consider casting a silencing charm around your study?” Walburga fixed her husband with a withering look. “Or do you find yourself presently relieved of your skills as a wizard?” 

Orion felt himself burn at this indignant remark. But it was true, of course. He could simply cast a silencing charm around his office and be none the wiser to the commotion going on elsewhere in his house.

But somehow, each time he felt the urge to reach for his wand, he’d found himself unable to carry out the act of blocking his son’s cries from earshot.

A sentiment which, considering the lack of such a charm placed around this room, his wife shared. 

“Are you _quite_ certain all is well upstairs?” he asked. 

“Don’t talk nonsense, Orion” Walburga snapped dismissively.

She looked away, making a great show of busying herself with the sheets of letter-writing parchment and envelopes she had laid out across her desktop, but never really doing anything with them. It was a façade - and one which Orion could see straight through. 

Walburga was clearly on the edge of her seat, fighting against the urge to abandon her proper place downstairs in favour of investigating the goings-on upstairs in the nursery. The sound of her child’s cries had her itching to go to him. It was clear as day to see - to her husband, at least. 

“I am merely suggesting that surely if the girl had the situation under control, then the boy ought to have been quietened by now. And considering the expense involved in keeping her-”

“Alright” Walburga snapped, shuffling her pile of papers for what must have been the fifth time. “If it will set your mind at ease and allow you to get on with this important work of yours, then we will go up to the nursery and investigate” 

She threw aside her chair and led the way out of the parlour at a brisk march. Orion followed in her wake. 

The sight that greeted them as Walburga threw open the door to the nursery was of the their son grasped precariously in the unsteady grasp of the young nursemaid the family had hired shortly after Sirius was born. She paced back and forth across the room with the upset child in her arms. The girl’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone - she looked to be on the verge of tears herself.

“What is the meaning of this?” Walburga demanded, marching into the room.

The startled girl flinched and gave a gasp. Her arms tightened around the wailing child as her wet eyes jumped from Orion, still stood in the doorway, to Walburga, standing before her with her hands on her hips and a fierce glare.

“Mrs Black! I-” 

“For goodness sake, girl! Are you incapable of a task so simple as calming an infant?” Walburga demanded. 

“I am sorry, Mrs Black, truly” the girl pleaded in a stammered voice. “I have tried, truly. I’ve given him a dose of the pain-relieving potion, but he just won’t quieten”

Sirius, who had momentarily paused for breath, began crying anew. His nursemaid gave a sniff of her own as she attempted to soothe the boy, an act which only served to further enrage her employer. 

Orion observed the way his wife’s foot began tapping impatiently against the floor, the way her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. Both signs he knew well as signals that her limited patience was reaching its end. 

“Well it’s no wonder, if that is how you are trying to calm him. Give him here-” 

The terrified girl put up no protest as the mother practically snatched her son from her. Her doe eyes widened as she watched in disbelief as Sirius’s cries quickly began to trail off and fade away in his mother’s tight hold. Within mere moments, the shrieks which had pieced the air for hours on end had disappeared completely, leaving only faded whimpers in their wake. 

“There - you see?” Walburga glared over the top of her son’s head at the nursemaid. “A perfectly simple task, and yet one you seem to be incapable of mastering” 

Orion observed, bemused, as the nursemaid seemed to shrink under his wife’s scathing criticism. In a degree of fairness to the girl, it was plain for all to see that it was not, perhaps, entirely the fault of her own efforts that had caused Sirius to quieten the moment his mother had taken hold of him.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Black” the nursemaid murmured. “I will try to-”

“You will try nothing” Walburga cut her off, sharply. Her hold on the infant in her arms tightened visibly. “I haven’t the time or patience to deal with incompetence. We pay you good gold to tend to our son, yet you have made it perfectly clear today that you are simply not up to the job” 

The girl made no effort to hide the sobs threatening to escape her, now. 

“Mrs Black, please! I- I can do better, truly! If I could just-” 

She made an attempt to reach forward to take back the child - a move which sealed her fate. 

Walburga flinched backwards. Her eyes flashed dangerously.

“You will do nothing besides pack your bags and leave this house - immediately” she seethed.

The girl broke into a fresh fit of sobs as she hastened to obey. Orion could almost have found himself feeling sorry for her, if it weren’t for the distraction of the amusing glimmer of triumph he could see in his wife’s eyes. She positively beamed like the winner of some prize.

“Was that entirely necessary?” he asked, striding forward to stand beside his wife. He spared a quick glance for his young son, now dozing peacefully against his mother’s chest.

“Of course” Walburga replied, firmly. “That silly girl is clearly not up to the job of dealing with Sirius Orion. He would never have settled if I’d left him in her care. And besides-”

She looked up at her husband, her grey eyes twinkling. 

“If our son wouldn’t settle, however would you complete that _‘damned business proposition draft’?_ ”

Orion couldn’t help but smirk in reply. 

“A point well made, madam” he said. “Then if the matter at hand is solved, perhaps it is best if I return to my work” 

“It most certainly would be best” replied Walburga, shooting her husband a stern look. “And it seems _my_ work will have to wait” She sighed in supposed irritation. “I shall have to tend to Sirius Orion myself, now. Until a suitable replacement can be found” 

Orion suppressed a remark questioning the nature of the business to which she referred. Writing social correspondence hardly counted as important work, in his mind. 

And besides, he thought to himself as he paused in the doorway to observe his wife sinking into an armchair with their now-contented son still clasped tight to her chest, it was perfectly clear for anyone to see that tending to Sirius Orion was the only work that Walburga Black was interested in.


End file.
